Woodsong
by 1note
Summary: A deep dark forest, an isolated cabin, and a woman all alone. Sounds like the ideal situation for Victor Creed. But this damsel's not so helpless, and she's more familiar with Victor's past than he realizes. X-Men: Origins Sabertooth/OC.
1. The Feral and the Frail

**A/N: **This story takes place in the X-Men: Origins movie-verse, mostly because Liev Schreiber's Sabertooth was badass.

P.S. I took the lyrics for "Lady Margret" off of the _Cold Mountain_ soundtrack.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of. Nor do I own _The Tyger _or any other works by the incomparable William Blake.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

She smelled of the forest; green, earthy. She lived in a cabin situated in a small clearing deep within the woods. Perched amidst the branches of an aging fir, Victor watched as the frail hung her laundry out to dry on a simple cord strung between two young trees in a stand of oaks not far from the house. Sunlight filtered through the bedsheets and clothing, making the colors glow like stained glass. It also shone through the pale cotton dress she wore and her curves were revealed in stark silhouette. A bit thin for Victor's taste; he was never much for tall, willowy types. They broke way too easily.

Her skin was bronzed from hours spent outdoors, her hair chestnut brown and cut short enough to reveal the nape of her long neck. Despite the late autumn chill, she walked barefoot. Victor found that a turn-on for some reason.

While she clipped a blouse in place with colorful plastic clothespins, she began to sing.

_Lady Margret was standing in her own room door_

_A comb in her long yellow hair_

_When who did she spy but sweet William and his bride_

_As to the churchyard they drew near_

Victor blinked in surprise. He hadn't heard that song in…shit, decades. It was the kind of song he heard throughout his childhood, sung by young girls as they did their chores. The frail's voice wasn't particularly beautiful, but her joyful enthusiasm made up for the lack of talent. Victor settled into a more comfortable position and continued to listen, intrigued by this woman who lived alone in the middle of nowhere.

_The day passed away and the night coming on_

_Most of the men were asleep_

_Lady Margret appeared all dressed in white_

_Standing at his bed feet_

_She said "How do you like your bed? And how do you like your sheet?_

_And how do you like your fair young bride that's laying in your arms asleep?"_

_He said "Very well do I like my bed. Much better do I like my sheet._

_But most of all that fair young girl standing at my bed feet."_

_Then once he kissed her lily white hand_

_And twice he kissed her cheek_

_Three times he kissed her cold corpsy lips, then he fell into her arms asleep._

She flicked out a sun-yellow top sheet, draped over the clothesline, pinned it in place.

It was to Victor's mind a happy accident. He'd finished a job for Stryker a few days ago and decided to take a couple of days off to explore the local forest, maybe hunt down a deer or two, when he'd come upon this clearing and the frail who made her home there. There was no sign of anyone else, and Victor's nose could not detect even a hint of another human being. This woman lived alone and had for a long time. Not even visitors. He smiled to himself, long canines bared. Looked like he'd be hunting something other than deer today.

_The night passed away and the day came on_

_Into the morning light_

_Sweet William said "I'm troubled in my head by the dreams that I dreamed last night._

_Such dreams, such dreams as these, I know they mean no good._

_For I dreamed that my bower was full of red swine and my bride's bed full of blood."_

With a silent grace uncanny for a man his size, Victor descended from his perch and crouched in the shadow of the trees, eyes agleam. The woman sang on, oblivious to the danger.

_He asked "Is Lady Margret in her room? Or is she out in the hall?"_

_But Lady Margret lay in a cold, black coffin with her face turned to the wall._

He crept out from the forest's cover and out into the daylight. His feet, clad in hiking boots, made hardly a whisper in the grass. Victor's nostrils flared with the scent of his prey, her forest smells with an undertone that was distinctly female. (There was a dim sense that he'd encountered this alluring combination of scents before, but he shoved it to the back of his mind. He did not want to be distracted from the hunt.) His pulse quickened. He flexed his hands, claws extended in anticipation.

_Throw back, throw back those snow white robes_

_Be they ever so fine_

_And let me kiss those cold corpsey lips, for I know they'll never kiss mine._

_Then once he kissed her lily white hand_

_And twice he kissed her cheek_

_Three times he kissed her cold corpsey lips, then he fell into her arms asleep._

* * *

Tessa woke that morning to the sun angling through the window onto her face. To some this would be an annoyance, but the brightness penetrating her eyelids brought a smile to her lips. She stretched luxuriantly, joints popping, then relaxed with her eyes still closed and listened…

…to the slow music of the forest…the living things that measured their lives in sunlight and soil…the gradual shift of the seasons…the rapid movements of the creatures that dwelt beneath, among, and within them…myriad sensations.

It was not so much music as sensation. The living things that others saw as merely part of the landscape were in fact fully aware of the world around them, each other, and all that interacted with them and each other. Tessa listened to what the trees knew, what the grasses felt, what the mosses growing upon the stones perceived. It took patience to interpret what the green growing things perceived, but Tessa had many years of practice behind her. The sounds of the autumn season. The rasp of squirrel claws grasping the bark of the trees, the sluggish flow of sap slowing even more, the faint itch of dead leaves about to shed from branches. Flat teeth snagging, pulling and cutting at the last green shoots, creatures burrowing through dirt and tangled roots, the metal taste of blood on the ground as some hapless forager met its end in another beast's jaws. The same continual song, yet the notes were ever changing.

Tessa rose from her bed, ate, bathed. And all the time the music was with her. Most of the time it was simply part of the background, like the music piped into restaurants or shopping malls, barely noticed. But when the anomaly surfaced, she frowned and concentrated once again. _Other,_ her mind interpreted the sensations into words. _Predator … not bear … not wolf …_

Her frown deepened. A man? People wandered into her forest from time to time—poachers or hikers—but this didn't have the same feel. A human in the woods was like a boulder that suddenly dropped into a river, altering its flow. Who or whatever this was didn't clash with the forest's harmony, but neither did it completely fit into the song. That was not what troubled her the most, however. There was something almost…familiar about this Other.

She debated with herself over going to investigate, but the music told her that the Other was gradually drifting towards her. She could just wait for it to arrive. Yes, she decided, she would wait. In the meantime, she went about her day as always. She cleaned, she repaired. She did the laundry, then carried it out to hang dry. The day was cool; soon it would be too cold for hanging laundry out to dry and she would have to resort to the dryer sitting all but abandoned in her laundry room. Out in the sunlight and the fresh air, with a light breeze stirring the hanging sheets, Tessa soon began to sing. It was an old folksong, the tune light yet the story it told predictably grim. Tessa sang it with enthusiasm, distracted for the moment from the woods' song. For anyone else, this would have proved a fatal mistake.

Pain lanced across Tessa's back, so sudden and intense she could only gasp as she spun to face the cause. A man loomed over her, lips pulled back in a feral grin made more so by the exposed fangs, face covered in coarse hair. He was dressed in hunter's garb, camouflaged pants and jacket dappled in woodland colors. Tessa stumbled away from him.

"Aw, don't go," the man purred, raising a hand, each claw-tipped finger lightly coated with her blood, "I was just gettin' started."

Blind panic washed over her thoughts. Tessa let out a strangled cry, turned to run, but a steely hand grabbed her arm and the next thing she knew she was flying. She screamed just before she struck the hard trunk of the nearest tree and fell to the ground. The impact made the air explode from her lungs. The feral man growled, dropped to all fours, and leapt after her in a single, catlike bound. Half stunned, still unable to catch her breath, she tried to scramble out of his way. He grabbed one of her flailing ankles, claws sinking into the skin. The fresh pain made her gasp, finally refilling her air-starved lungs. She cried out and kicked at him with her other foot, but the man dodged it easily, laughing at her pathetic attempt. He tightened his grip until the claws went deep enough to hit bone, yanked her viciously towards him. Tessa struggled, sobbing in terror. His claws shredded through clothing and flesh alike. A knee was forced between her thighs to shove them apart. His terrible weight pressed down on her.

"Now comes the fun part," he leered. The scent of blood and terror intoxicated him. Her panic-stricken eyes stared up at him. They were an intense green, irises stark against the whites of her eyes like pine trees in a snowfield. For a brief instant Victor was captivated, and again that dim memory flickered at the back of his mind, making him frown in puzzlement.

And then he was suddenly and violently yanked from his prey. Victor roared. His claws sank into hard wood coated in slippery earth. _What the fuck?_ He twisted in his opponent's grasp and saw what held him. They were roots. Tree roots erupting from the ground, coiling around his body like serpents. Victor snarled and thrashed. Wood splintered and fell in chunks, but more quickly rose in their place. They wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso, tightening their hold until he could no longer move. Still he continued to struggle, face reddening from the effort.

Tessa rose unsteadily to her feet. Her dress hung in tatters. She crossed her arms over her bared breasts. The feral man's eyes latched onto her, mouth stretched in a grimace of hate. Tessa's body was crisscrossed with the deep cuts he'd inflicted on her, but they no longer bled as they should have. The wounds began to close. Within moments they were erased from her skin, not so much as a discolored welt remaining. With a shudder, Tessa turned away from her attacker and shuffled back towards her cabin.

"You bitch!" Victor roared after her retreating form, "You can't keep me tied up forever! When I get outta this, I'm gonna spread your guts all over this clearing!"

Tessa lurched through the door and slammed it closed behind her, cutting off his tirade. She sank to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, then doubled over until her forehead touched the floor. Her body trembled.

It had been so long since she'd experienced anything remotely dangerous. A lifetime of safety had made her lax. She should have paid closer attention, should have listened for the intruder's approach and prepared herself for a possible confrontation. But instead she'd daydreamed and let him sneak up on her, catch her unawares and make her panic like a cornered rabbit. If he hadn't paused for that brief second, if she hadn't come to her senses quickly enough to take advantage of his distraction, he would have…

"Stop," she hissed to herself. "Get up." Slowly, she straightened from her hunched position and regained her feet. She looked down at herself. Her dress was a tattered ruin and her skin was covered in dirt and blood. She stripped off the remains of her clothing, tossing them into the trash, and made her way to the bathroom to wash the filth from her. Later, clean and dressed in a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt, she wandered over to the window to gaze out at her captive. The intruder didn't appear to be struggling at the moment, just staring at her door. Tessa could swear she almost felt the heat of his baleful glare.

"What am I going to do with you?" She thought of those fangs, those claws. Again that hint of familiarity niggling at the back of her mind. _I know … I remember … something._

An outsider might have told her she was in shock, that her mind was playing tricks on her. But Tessa knew herself too well. This was an old memory, she was sure of it. She spent a while trying to coax it into the light without success. It would come in its own time, and not before. Busywork helped, she knew from long experience. Tessa headed for the door. She reached for the handle, hesitated. Her jaws clenched in determination and she forced herself to grab the handle and turn. _Come on, Tess. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you too scared to step outside your door._

Victor saw the frail emerge from the safety of her home and immediately let loose a massive roar. The woman flinched, then shut the door behind her and walked with rigid calm over to the overturned laundry basket, righted it. She continued hanging the damp clothes, making an obvious effort to behave as if she hadn't been affected by Victor's attack. But the tension in her shoulders, her silence, and the smell of anxiety wafting from her belied her apparent calm. Victor smirked.

The tree roots held him in an uncomfortable position. His muscles soon began to cramp. He flexed against his wooden bonds, but was unable to do more than produce a faint creak. Victor snarled. He hated confinement, hated more the sense of being at someone else's mercy. He longed to sink his fangs into that mutant bitch's throat and tear it open, to feel the hot spray of blood and hear the bubbling gurgle. The fact that she continued to ignore him only infuriated him more. As she finished with her laundry and headed back to the house, Victor erupted into a flurry of snarls and growls, thrashing in his wooden prison. The frail shut the door behind her without so much as a glance his way.

Night settled in. Tessa ate her dinner with little appetite, then decided to turn in early. No surprise, sleep did not come easily. She could deal with the emotional trauma, but not the continual nagging thought that there was something she should remember. There were many whose faces had faded from her memory over time, but she was pretty sure she'd remember that feral man, no matter how far back they might have met. He was nothing if not one big, loud, deadly statement. That razor grin, those claws. Cat's claws. Tiger claws.

_In what distant deeps or skies … _

She could feel the memory being to rise in her thoughts. Rather than try to grasp it and risk it sliding away like an eel, she made herself relax, open, and let it come …

A different night, lifetimes ago, in a much smaller home. The warmth of a fire, the flicker of candlelight. Tessa curled up on a bearskin rug in a long, modest nightgown with a blanket draped across her shoulders like a shawl. A book in her hands, its pages dimly illuminated. Across from her, dressed in similar nighttime attire, two boys of differing ages, cross-legged, elbows on knees, hands clasped beneath their chins. Both solemn, the younger mimicking the older. Their eyes gleamed with reflected light, like animal eyes.

_In what distant deeps or skies_

_Burnt the fire of thine eyes?_

_On what wings dare he aspire?_

_What the hand dare seize the fire?_

The boys listened to her words, enthralled. By the poem? Or by the woman who read to them? Tessa suspected a little of both, especially where the older boy was concerned. His guarded stare hinted at the hardships he'd endured. So burdened at so young an age. But there was no helplessness in him, for the hands tucked beneath his hairless chin bore a tapered claw upon the end of each finger. Claws which Tessa knew could extend to more than twice their length at will or when he was agitated. But for now they remained at rest.

_What the hammer? what the chain?_

_In what furnace was thy brain?_

_What the anvil? what dread grasp_

_Dare its deadly terrors clasp?_

_When the stars threw down their spears,_

_And watered heaven with their tears,_

_Did he smile his work to see?_

_Did he who made the Lamb make thee?_

Tessa's eyes flew open. A shudder ran through her. No. Please don't let it be …

* * *

Needless to say, Victor did not sleep that night. The long hours were spent either straining against his imprisonment, cursing at the frail, and simply waiting. The first rays of dawn found him covered in dew. His breath misted in the morning air. He was thirsty. Considered licking some of the dew when the front door opened. The frail stepped outside as the sun barely peeped over the distant treetops. Still barefoot, Victor noticed; another detail which tugged at his memory.

She walked around the side of the house and approached a small open-sided structure a few yards distant, collecting an armload of wood from a large stack along the way. The faint smell of ash and smoke told Victor it was some kind of outdoor brick oven. Within moments she had a fire lit and fresh smoke poured out from the chimney. The woman went back to the house and reemerged carrying a large platter. Victor sniffed: dough, cheese, sausage and ham. He blinked. A pizza for breakfast? Not one of those crappy prepackaged frozen ones either; everything smelled fresh. The frail slid the platter in through the oven's slotted opening, used a long handle with a flattened shovel-like end to push it further into the hot interior. The scent of cooking made Victor's stomach twist and growl. Great. Thirsty _and_ hungry.

It seemed an eternity before she used the oversized spatula to pull the platter out and lay it on a stone slab that served as a table. She waited a few minutes for it to cool, then picked up a pizza cutter, divided the pie into six large wedges. She then picked up one of the steaming slices and gingerly proceeded to eat it then and there.

Victor ground his teeth. That bitch! She had to realize was hungry after hours stuck out here and she goes and has her breakfast _right in front of him!_ He wanted to shout abuse at her, but knew it would only let her know that her actions were getting to him. Damned if he was gonna give her the satisfaction.

Two generous slices later, the woman picked up the platter with the remaining pizza and returned to the cabin. Victor glowered at the door, only to see it open again and the woman step out with a pizza-laden plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. As she tramped through the grass, dew coated her bare feet, made the cuffs of her trousers darken. She stopped at arm's length from the captive feral. Though her expression was neutral, Victor could smell the fear she held at bay. She held the glass out to him. Victor suddenly lunged, snarling. His teeth snapped shut a hair's breadth from her hand. The frail jerked back and for one sweet instant her fear-scent permeated the air. Victor smirked.

Tessa swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, then extended her arm out to him again.

_Now comes the part when she pours it out on the ground,_ he thought sardonically.

She took a tentative step towards him. Victor's smarmy expression slipped just a little. Another step, her arm outstretched. The rim of the glass lightly touched his bottom lip, leaving behind a bead of moisture. Victor's tongue slipped out of its own accord to lick the drop from his lip. The glass pressed against his mouth with gentle insistence.

_Shit._

Victor's lips parted. Tessa tipped the glass slowly, careful not to let any of its contents dribble. She watched his throat flex with each swallow as the water quickly dwindled. She set the empty glass down by her feet, then used her free hand to lift a pizza slice from the plate and brought it to his mouth. Victor's expression was a mixture of wariness and contempt along with the usual hostility. But it was food, and he was hungry. It'd do him some good even if the bitch tried to poison him. He bit into the slice.

Tessa grew more tense the closer her fingers got to his mouth. But when they were down to the lat bit of crust, the feral man's eyes met hers for just a second, daring her to chicken out. She pursed her lips and shoved the last bite into his open jaws. The man smirked. It seemed to be his preferred expression. Tessa picked up the next slice.

The food disappeared quickly; Victor was famished, after all. In the face of his apparent complacence Tessa allowed some of her tension to ease. And then when they got to the last slice the feral nearly bit the end of her finger off. Tessa yelped at the sudden pain and jerked her hand away; the wound healed instantly. Victor chuckled, licked his blood-smeared lips. "Dessert."

He expected anger, maybe a few choice words in regards to his parentage spat out at him. He never expected to see her expression change from shocked to sorrowful. As if he'd betrayed her somehow. As if she had a right to feel betrayed. Victor felt his sneer become more forced; it was that or let his confusion show, and he wasn't about to reveal any sort of weakness to her.

The woman bent, picked up the empty glass, then turned and went back to the house.

* * *

_What happened to you?_ The question lodged in her throat, unspoken. _What happened to your brother?_

She remembered them both, James and Victor. Two lost souls alone in the wilderness. They were wary of others; it was a hard world for young orphans, harder still if they were Changed. That was Tessa's word long before the word mutant became common. Mutant, from the Latin _mutare_, "to change." Tessa went through her own change when she was not much older than Victor. She was fortunate in that it was easier for her to conceal, and the few who did know never treated her as if she were less than human. Many years later, she discovered this was rarely the case for others of her kind. More often they ended up in Victor's and James's situation, treated with suspicion and violence, forced to drift from place to place, unable to settle down in safety or find people they could trust. Perhaps she shouldn't wonder that Victor turned out this way.

_You don't know for sure he's the same boy you met all those years ago,_ Tessa chastised herself. Yet deep down she knew it was him.

Did he even remember her? Would their history matter to him? He'd always been a wild creature, but now there was a cruelty in him that overshadowed his humanity. He'd relished the terror and pain he inflicted on her. The boy Tessa remembered was not like that; he resorted to violence only when he felt it necessary to protect himself and his little brother. There was no sadistic gleam in his eyes then. But that was long ago.

"I'm going to let you go," Tessa said to him on the third day of his captivity. "If you try anything I'll trap you again. If you leave and then try to double back, I'll know. You won't be able to sneak up on me again."

Victor sneered. After three days his facial hair was noticeably scragglier. His limbs had long since moved past the cramping stage to total numbness. The anger had settled into his stomach, a slow-burning knot of vengefulness. "How good 're you at sleeping with one eye open, frail?"

"You're welcome to find out," was her cool response. The feral chuckled.

Tessa backed up to put some distance between them, just in case he tried something. Then her eyes clouded as she focused inward, to that part of herself that influenced the song. Victor felt the thick roots begin to loosen their grip. He expected them to withdraw with the same speed as when they'd surfaced and simply let him drop. Instead, their movements were slow, and they laid him down on his back with care before vanishing beneath the earth. Despite their gentleness, Victor's muscles sang in an agony of renewed bloodflow. He gritted his teeth and flexed his stiffened limbs. Fuck, that hurt!

Tessa kept her distance as she watched him stretch the stiffness from his muscles and climb to his feet. The two mutants regarded each other for a long, unpleasant moment. For a moment it seemed the frail might say something, but then thought better of it. Finally, Victor uttered a derisive snort and turned his back on the silent woman. He stalked towards the edge of the clearing and vanished into the woods. She watched him closely long after he was out of her eyesight. The feral man tried more than once to circle back so that he might approach from behind the cabin. Testing her. Each time Tessa made the tree roots writhe so that the ground trembled beneath his feet. He took the hint soon enough. Tessa continued to watch his progress until he went beyond the range of her senses. In the ensuing weeks she found herself unable to relax, waking in the dead of night with the certainty that he lurked just outside her window, jumping at the slightest noise whenever she was outdoors. She hated the loss of her serenity. Only when winter set in did she finally lose some of the lingering tension. Here the winters were so harsh, the snows so deep that no one could reach her. She was safely cut off from the world until spring. The months trickled by, the snows receded, fresh shoots poked from the ground and buds studded the trees. Tessa ventured out with a little more caution than she once did, but otherwise was able to resume her old routine. And the next few years passed without incident.

* * *

By some miracle the car was still where he'd left it when he went on his ill-fated excursion. The engine purred to life without hesitation. Victor drove to the nearest down with a decent hotel, booked a room, and proceeded to deplete the local water supply in a long, much-needed shower. Then he called up room service, ordered half the menu. Only when he finished the gigantic meal did Victor finally call in. Not surprising that Stryker was pissed by his extended absence.

_"Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to contact me over forty-eight hours ago!"_

Victor lounged on the hotel room's sofa, feet jutting well past the opposite end. "What can I say. Out in the elements, eating raw venison, fighting off bears and such. Who can keep track when they're havin' that much fun?" If he held his breath, his keen ear could pick up the telltale sound of teeth grinding together.

_"We'll discuss the heady distractions of communing with nature later,"_ Stryker hissed, _"Right now you've got a job to do. If you leave now and don't make too many pit stops you should get to the location while the target's still there."_

Victor yawned. "So where am I heading?"

_"Springfield, Ohio."_

"Great. Another podunk town."

The colonel ignored the interruption. _"The target's just outside the city limits, working in some two-bit traveling carnival. Officially he's in charge of one of the game kiosks. His real job, however, is to power the entire carnival."_

Victor felt a knot form in his full stomach, whether from excitement or anxiety he couldn't say. "Bradley."

_"Make it memorable. I want it to make the front page of all the local papers."_

"Yeah, I can do showy," Victor replied carelessly. He received directions to Springfield before he hung up the phone. "So much for a good night's sleep."

Much as he'd love to venture back into that forest and show the mutant frail what her insides looked like, revenge would have to wait. Time would make the deed that much more pleasurable, and Victor had all the time in the world with a memory to match. He knew how to hold a grudge, how to nurture it within his heart for months or years at a time. Once he waited more than thirty years to get back at a man who'd crossed him. A man who spent those intervening years getting married, raising up a family. Three decades to make a home, and in less than a day Victor turned his enemy's house into an abattoir, his wife and children and grandchildren into unrecognizable piles of shredded meat and offal. And he made the man watch it all before he finally slit his throat.

Let the frail wait until she let her guard down, until she convinced herself the danger was long gone. For now there was work to do, an old comrade to meet for a brief hello before a very bloody farewell.


	2. The Burning Man

**A/N: **This chapter takes place after the movie. I'm not going to bother naming a specific length of time lest I screw it up somehow. Let's just say it's "Years Later …"

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

_Years Later … _

For the most part Tessa only went to town once a month for supplies, but when winter approached she went twice as often to stock up before the first blizzard struck and cut her off from civilization altogether. These supply runs were the only times she drove. When Dan, her last husband, died, he among his worldly possessions a huge 4x4 with an engine that growled like a constipated grizzly. Tessa had to admit to a certain glee whenever she pulled up to a red stoplight and some young hothead revved his engine in an immature attempt to get her attention—

_Grrrooowwwwlllllll!_

—and she would just smile sweetly and press down on the gas in her truck.

_GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_

She could actually see their egos deflate.

Her good mood didn't last long. It seemed every other conversation she overheard was about the "mutant menace." She remembered such talk throughout her life. Same fears, different names. Foreigners, Jews, blacks, homosexuals. Mutants. Crosses would burn, bodies would swing from trees, rocks would shatter windows, children would run home from the schoolyard in tears from the hateful taunts. It was one of the reasons Tessa chose to live in isolation.

She did her best to ignore the bigotry and took solace in the music of the trees scattered throughout the town. The song went on, though muted by the fact that the plantlife lay dormant for the season. Still, some part remained aware, as if in a half-dream.

Tessa loaded the last of her supplies, thanked the store clerk who helped her ("See ya next year!"), then hopped into the truck and headed for home. She fiddled with the radio; most of the stations seemed to be on the same wavelength as the people back in town. Mutants were all anyone wanted to talk about, and what to do about them. Opinions ranged from mandatory registration to isolating them in internment camps to outright extermination. The bluster of the frightened drowned out the voices of the sane few who took a live-and-let-live outlook. Tessa twisted the dial until she finally came across a station that was just playing music. It was country. She turned the volume down to an acceptable drone, tapped to the beat with her fingers against the steering wheel.

The deejay paused for a moment to warn of an incoming snowstorm. Whiteout conditions.

"Looks like I finished my shopping none too soon." Even as she said this the first snowflakes flattened themselves against the windscreen. Tessa switched on the wipers. It wasn't long before the snowfall was so thick she almost missed her turnoff into the woods; an easy thing to overlook even on a clear day. The 4x4 plowed through the inches-thick drifts already spanning the rudimentary path. The headlights barely revealed anything more than five feet ahead, but Tessa didn't worry. She could never get lost in her forest.

The snow accumulation was a tad less severe in the clearing thanks to the natural barrier provided by the woods. Tessa brought the truck to a halt a short distance away from the cabin's door, killed the engine, and set about transferring the supplies to the house. Her winter boots crunched against the snow. Tessa hated putting anything on her feet, but she hated icy toes even more.

A change in the wood's song made her pause halfway to the door, a box of cleaning supplies in her arms. It was faint, at the very edge of her range of perception. She picked it up intermittently like a staticky radio station. A group of men in the forest … chasing. There was rage in their heavy footfalls. They stopped running. Turmoil … blood on the snow … something liquid, caustic spattered on the ground … then fire.

"What …?" Tessa frowned in the direction these impressions came from. Something violent was happening. She shivered in her fleece-lined coat.

* * *

This last hit was so ridiculously easy even a half-assed amateur could've done it. Normally Victor would have turned it down and waited for something that was more of a challenge, but then he realized the trip to and from the target's location would take him near the area where he'd encountered the female mutant years ago; the one with the familiar green eyes. He decided to take it as a sign that the time had come for his revenge on that bitch. So he did the job (yawn) and made a slight detour on the return trip. Along the way he passed through a town, decided to stop a while at what passed for a bar in this place. What the hell, he might even pick a fight with the locals to spice up the evening. Judging from the looks he got when he sauntered through the doors, that wouldn't be difficult.

Victor took in his surroundings: Dim lights, smokey haze, men in jeans and flannel shirts, potbellies sagging above oversized belt buckles, sweat-stained caps with tattered brims, tattoos on both the men and the handful of women scattered throughout the place, the women middle-aged with saggy breasts threatening to burst out of too-tight halter tops. His sensitive nose deciphered the range of odors: Watery beer, whiskey that could cut through varnish, cigarettes (both tobacco and other), sweat, vomit, piss. Victor grinned. "My kinda place."

Despite the poor lighting and pervasive haze, the more sharp-eyed patrons noticed Victor's claws and murmured this fact to their neighbors. Soon the entire bar was abuzz with quiet yet persistent mumbling. Victor knew all too well that a murmuring crowd of drunken rednecks was just a riotous mob in potentia. Oh yes, things were definitely looking up. He strolled over to the bar; the stools emptied in record time. The bartender was a red-faced fat man whose neck was obscured beneath a massive flap of fat that draped over the collar of his shirt. Victor seated himself on one of the abandoned stools; it creaked under his weight. "Gimme a beer."

The fat man somehow managed to cross his arms. "We don't serve your kind here."

Victor quirked an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Is that so?"

"Cancha read?" The barkeep pointed at a sign tacked to the wall behind him, a piece of cardboard with sloppy words written in black marker.

_This establishmant is for Humans Only! No dogs, cats, hogs, monkeys, goats, or MUTANTS allowed!_

"Mutants" was in all caps and underlined three times to ensure they got their point across.

The fat man glared at him. "Well?"

"You misspelled 'establishment.'"

"You deaf, freak?" A sweaty guy with a tattoo of a rose on his neck took a threatening step towards him. "Get th' fuck outta here!"

Others began to throw in their own comments. "Yeah!" "—don't want no muties 'round here!" "Freak!" "Mutie!"

Victor rolled his eyes. All the epithets and racial slurs people have hurled at each other throughout history and the best they could come up with for mutants was "muties?"

He rose from his seat to loom over the first speaker. "You gonna try and make me leave, slick?"

A bottle shattered against the back of his head. The woman who'd swung it at him shrieked at Drunk #1 "Kick that mutie's ass, baby!" just before a backhand from Victor sent her crashing into the wall. And then the chaos of a good ol' fashioned barfight ensued. There was plenty of blood and screams. Victor was careful not to kill anybody, however. With his connections the cops would never be able to hold him, but he didn't want to go through the hassle.

There was a lull as those who remained upright entertained second thoughts. In that silence (apart from the groans and sobbing, of course), the bartender yelled, "I'm callin' the fucking cops!"

The feral laughed. "Don't bother. I've had my fun." He winked, strode through the debris and semi-conscious bodies, and swaggered out the door.

Outside, he blinked the bar's gloom from his eyes. The late afternoon air was crisp with the promise of snow. Victor took a deep breath. Man! That was invigorating. More than enough to whet his appetite for what he had planned for the frail. He climbed into his car, started the engine, and pulled out into the meager traffic. Radio said a snowstorm was on the way. Victor didn't worry. He'd either finish with the woman before the worst of it hit or wait it out at her cabin. Hell, he might even consider spending the winter there. _Communing with nature._ Victor laughed.

He relied on memory to guide him to the area where he'd entered the woods last time. The pale sun sank towards the horizon as he drove. Snow began to fall from the clouded sky. Night set in quickly. Victor turned on the headlights, much good they did him in this weather. He sped on, fishtailing around each turn. Everything was blackness save the blazing white illuminated by the headlights. The rest of the world was just barely noticed shadows. No noise beyond the crunch of the tires on the snow, the laboring engine, and the steady moan of the blustery wind. It was like being trapped inside the TV while it was tuned to white noise.

He didn't hear the other car until that fraction of a second before it struck. It came at him from the side, its front end struck the driver's side of his car. An explosion of sound, and the world began to tumble. It was only the car that tumbled, of course, as it was knocked of the road and rolled down the steep shoulder into a ditch. Victor's body rattled like a ball bearing inside the vehicle; he never bothered with a seatbelt. The next thing he knew he was lying on the ceiling while his fractured bones knitted themselves. Above the noise of the snowstorm he made out the garbled voices of men. A sudden flare of light as the other vehicle switched on its front lights. _Stupid sunovabitch!_ Victor cursed himself. He'd run into a goddamned ambush. Some of the drunks must have decided to even the score. They could've noted which direction he was headed then taken a shortcut to head him off, which wouldn't have been too hard for people who lived in the area and were familiar with its terrain. Victor dragged himself towards the shattered window, a tight squeeze given that the top of the car partially collapsed from the weight. Still, he managed to get out and get to his feet before his attackers finished skidding their way down the incline. There were eight of them, all bundled in thick layers to protect from the cold. Victor was sure most if not all were from the bar. Some of them had flashlights which they shone in his face. He wondered if they were shocked by the light reflected by his eyes.

Victor roared a challenge and lunged, only to stagger back as what felt like a battering ram slammed into his chest. They'd brought their shotguns along, loaded with buckshot. No sooner did his healing factor kick in than another of the faceless attackers fired on him, then another. A relentless barrage that his healing factor could not keep up with. That was when Victor realized this wasn't a simple mutie bashing; this was a lynch mob.

He needed to put some distance between them, give himself a chance to recover. The forest's edge was not far behind him. He could try to lose them in there, heal up, then pick off these bastards one by one. Victor ran. The mob chased after him, still firing their guns. It was more from luck than skill when a round took out Victor's right knee. He collapsed into the bloody snow, struggled up onto his one good leg only to be knocked down by the continued volleys. He roared defiance and slashed with his claws, but his enemies maintained their distance while they shot at him.

Victor could not die, but he could sustain serious enough damage to put him out of commission for a while. By the time the last shot rang out the mutant looked like a hamburger sculpture. Even so, the gathered men saw the ragged wounds begin to pull themselves together. One of them, the drunk with the rose tattoo on his neck who'd confronted Victor at the bar, turned to his companions with a vicious grin. "Now for the _real_ fun."

Victor never totally lost consciousness. Sounds and impressions filtered through the numb haze. " … real tight, now …" " … -e that sledgehammer …" " … got the matches?"

Awareness gradually returned. Everything ached. His skin was still covered in healing red scars. He lay spreadeagled on his back beneath the cover of the trees where the snow wasn't as thick, his wrists and ankles tied with steel cable that bit into his flesh, the other ends secured to metal spikes driven deep into the frozen ground. A circle of hostile faces glared down at him.

"You with us, freak?" One of them reached down to slap his cheek. Victor lunged, his fangs sank into the man's outstretched hand, piercing glove and flesh. _"Fuck!"_ The man yanked free and staggered back. His comrades laughed.

"Got yerself a love bite there, Hank," someone jeered.

"Fuckin' mutie!" The man's boot slammed into Victor's side.

The man with the rose tattoo loomed over the snarling feral. "We wanted you t' be awake for this, mutie. Got somethin' special planned for you." He gestured to another man who hefted a plastic gas can. The sharp stink of gasoline assaulted Victor's nostrils and foul liquid splashed onto him. It was then that he felt a tremor deep within him, an inkling of fear.

His long life spent in violence left him intimately familiar with all sorts of physical pain. He learned to endure it, to use it as fuel for his rage. But there were some types of pain that even he dreaded; of those, the worst was burning. The way it made the nerve endings sing until his vision turned white, never abating until the nerves themselves were destroyed and offered a few minutes of blissful respite. Then the nerves would start to regenerate and the anguish would flare up anew. Victor was burned several times throughout his life, the most severe when he sustained second and third degree burns to his arm during WWI. Pain that was about to be eclipsed by what this mob had planned.

He snarled in defiance. "I'm gonna hunt down every one of you cocksuckers and make you watch while I kill the thing you love most. I will gut your families and rape your wives and daughters. I'll castrate your sons and tear their heads off. Then I'll do the same to you."

The man with the rose tattoo smirked. In his hand was a book of matches. He struck one and used it to light the rest at once. "Here's a little taste of what's waitin' for you on th' other side, freak." And he tossed the flaming matches onto Victor's gas-soaked chest.

Victor's screams ceased only when his lungs charred, long before the pain was over.

* * *

The worst of the storm had yet to reach the area. This didn't make it any less dangerous.

Tessa knew she was probably making a terrible mistake, but couldn't bring herself to ignore what she'd sensed before. Something terrible happened out at the edge of the woods. She needed to see what it was. What if those men had killed someone? She couldn't just leave the body out there to be eaten by scavengers or lost under the snow. Whoever it was might have family. It would be cruel to leave them wondering for months or even years while their loved one's remains were left to rot.

She climbed into her truck and started the engine once again. The direction she needed to go did not have a path. She had to wend the large vehicle through the densely packed forest, at times influencing the trees to lean out of her way. This provided its own risks, for the largely dormant trees were far slower to move than in warmer times and the trunks were in danger of splintering from the strain.

She didn't bother with headlights. The snowfall had thickened to the point that no amount of light would help. She would just have to rely on the song to guide her. The 4x4's powerful engine roared as it bulled its way through the deepening drifts. It wouldn't be long before even this monster vehicle was in danger of getting mired. Tessa did not want to get stranded out here. If she couldn't reach her destination before the blizzard she would turn around and head back for home. She would only risk so much for a dead stranger.

* * *

He reached a point where pain was all he knew. The anguish of charred flesh, the bone-penetrating cold. His regenerated eyes gazed blurrily up at the snow-shrouded trees and his stuttering thoughts skipped back to a different winter, a different forest.

_Here, Jimmy, put my coat on. I'm not cold._

Two boys struggling through the snow, at times sinking up to their waists. Weak from cold and starvation. There was nothing to eat in this icy wasteland. Nothing but skeletal trees. They ate snow just to have something in their bellies.

Victor wouldn't stop, no matter how tired Jimmy said he was. If his little brother dropped from exhaustion he carried the smaller boy on his back until he could walk on his own again. If they stopped, they died. Victor refused to die. He would not fail his brother by giving in.

A low growl reached the adult mutant's ears. In his mind, the memory of his younger self tensed. The wolves were coming. _Jimmy! Climb up that tree!_

To the half starved wolves the boys looked like easy prey. They were many, and their teeth were sharp. But Victor had his claws. If only he wasn't so tired. His arms were blocks of ice; he couldn't lift them. The growling grew louder. Not long now. Then there was light and a figure loomed over him, face shadowed under a furred hood. A name rose in Victor's mind: _Josiah._ He and his brother were saved.

* * *

Tessa didn't want to think about how long it took her to reach him. She brought the truck to a halt alongside the motionless form sprawled on the ground, got a flashlight out of the glove compartment, and went out into the howling wind. What little skin she left exposed felt the burn of intense cold. She played the flashlight's beam over the body. It was naked, the clothing burnt away. Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Even with the thin layer of snow that covered it, Tessa could see there wasn't nearly enough damage to the corpse considering the charred circle around it. She knelt and shone the light on the face, brushing the snow away with her other hand. The skin was a mass of fresh scar tissue. Eyes open, staring. A sense of dread came over her. She moved the flashlight's beam to one of the outstretched hands, saw the blackened cable biting into the wrist, a claw at each fingertip.

Tessa gasped and scrambled away. She stood with her back against the truck, both hands clutching the flashlight as if it might protect her. He'd come back. Victor.

The body remained still. Not dead, though. Tessa knew better. Even the strongest healing factors had their limits. The massive injuries sustained, plus the intense cold, proved too much and his body simply shut down. In all likelihood he would revive come spring when the cold receded.

_I could just leave him here._ That would be the smart thing to do. After all, the reason he'd returned was to try and finish what he started years ago. Anyone in her situation would be justified in doing the same.

_Look at him_, her conscience whispered, relentless as always, _Obviously tortured. Staked out and set on fire. Maybe he provoked someone, maybe he even deserved this somehow, or maybe it happened just because he's a mutant._

He was dangerous. She knew what he might do to her once he recovered. Was she really considering marooning herself for an entire winter alone with this man? She had to be out of her mind!

_You took him in before. Him and his brother._ Of course she did. But he was just a child then. He obviously wasn't the same person anymore.

Tessa switched off the flashlight and got back into the truck. The warmth from the heater made the numbed skin on her face tingle painfully. The wipers swished across the windscreen to clear away the snow. Hardly worth it since it was pitch black outside and the headlights would only reveal a wall of white. Should head back now before the storm buried her. That thought brought the image of Victor as a child flailing helplessly as the snow piled over him. Something hitched in her chest. "I must be insane."

She turned in her seat, found her late husband's rusty toolbox behind her. She dug around in it until she found a pair of cutters, then hefted the flashlight once again and went outside.

"This is crazy. Totally nuts," she muttered to herself as she struggled to cut through the steel cables. When all four limbs were freed, she hurried to the truck where she found that old sleeping bag she'd been meaning to get rid of and spread it out in the back. Then she stepped back and focused her mind on the nearest trees. It was hard to make trees move in winter; to force them out of dormancy for even a few minutes could harm them. As before, years ago, thick roots emerged from the frozen ground. They moved with agonizing slowness, lifting the unconscious mutant and maneuvering him to the back of the truck, laying him down on the sleeping bag. Then they withdrew into the earth and the trees resumed their interrupted slumber. Tessa shut the back of the truck, hurried back to the cab, and drove.

They almost didn't make it. The brunt of the storm struck with brutal force. The 4x4 battled raging winds as it struggled through drifts almost deep enough to reach the hood. Tessa hunched over the steering wheel, praying they didn't get stuck. She doubted exposure would kill her; more likely she'd slip into hibernation like Victor and wake in the spring. Didn't mean she was anxious to give it a try.

Whether by luck or divine intervention, they made it to the clearing. Tessa brought the truck to a halt by the door. She got out, opened the back, grabbed the edge of the sleeping bag. This wasn't going to be pretty. She yanked and pulled until Victor's body slid out of the truck and struck the ground with a thump. Tessa winced. As she dragged the heavy body to the cabin's door, she wished she had a bit more muscle to go along with her height. She paused to open the door before she dragged the laden sleeping bag inside. Then she hurried back outside to move the truck into the garage. She had to use the guide rope strung between the garage and the house to find her way back. In whiteouts, a person could easily get lost just a few feet from their door.

As far as she could tell, Victor hadn't moved the few minutes she was away. It was dark inside the cabin. Tessa stripped off her heavy coat and gloves, kicked off her boots. She crept over to the mantle where she kept an oil lamp and a box of matches. Struck a match, lit the wick. A dim flicker pushed back some of the dark. She moved to light the other lamps situated throughout the room. At the woodstove, she uncovered a few coals and coaxed them into a flame. Fed it fuel from the woodbox until heat radiated throughout the cabin. Tessa dragged Victor a little closer to the stove, got a blanket and throw pillow from the couch. She tucked the pillow beneath his head and covered him with the blanket. He looked unchanged; eyes still staring up at nothing, flesh still red and raw. Yet as she watched it seemed the scars got a little less awful. Maybe the warmth helped.

She sat on the couch, elbows on her knees, chin propped in her hands. She stared at the motionless form and felt her anxiety rise. "I must be insane," she repeated. What the hell was she supposed to do with him once he woke? Should she tie him up? Lock him in the basement? Even if she did either of those things, she knew it would only be a matter of time before he got loose. She couldn't trust him, couldn't protect herself like before. Why was she putting herself through this?

"Because I'm a sentimental idiot," she muttered.

She rose and went to the kitchen. Might as well try to eat something while she waited. By the time she returned, Victor's skin looked almost normal. His eyes were now closed, his chest visibly rose and fell. At some point he'd slid from dormancy into normal sleep. His hair had yet to grow back. Without the facial hair, his resemblance to the boy he used to be was more obvious. Tessa felt a pang of sadness at this. As the night wore on, Victor showed no signs of waking. Tessa didn't think she'd be able to sleep, so she curled up on the sofa with a book to read. After a while, though, she caught herself nodding off. With great reluctance, she left the den with its slumbering occupant and went to her bedroom. She made sure to push the dresser up against the door before going to bed.


	3. Getting Reacquainted

**A/N: Attempted rape in this chapter!** Don't say I didn't warn ya.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

Tessa woke with a start, still dressed in her clothes from the night before. The snowstorm continued to howl outside and what little light made it through the windows looked watery gray. Nevertheless, it was morning. Tessa was surprised to have slept the night through. The dresser remained unmoved from its position blocking her bedroom door.

She rose from the bed, went to the table where a pitcher and basin waited. They were gifts from her mother, over two centuries old. Tessa lifted the full pitcher and carefully poured its contents into the basin, then proceeded to wash her face and hands. The water was, unsurprisingly, quite cold. Drops fell from her chin into the basin, water trailed down her neck and dampened the collar of her shirt. Finished, she carried the basin into the cramped water closet and dumped the water down the sink.

Dan used to tease her about her morning ritual. "Why don't you use the sink? Isn't that what we've got plumbing for?"

"This way's better," was her prim reply.

"It's archaic," he would state without malice, a twinkle in his hazel eyes.

To which Tessa would flash a coy smile and retort, "So am I."

She stared at her blocked door. _Can't hide in here forever._ She moved the dresser; its blunt feet moaned against the hardwood floor. She stood before the now unimpeded door, wiped a sweaty palm against her jeans, and reached out to turn the knob. No wickedly grinning mutant lurked in the hall. Tessa crept out of her bedroom, headed for the den. Her bare feet made almost no sound against the floorboards.

Victor had rolled onto his side sometime in the night. Otherwise, the scene remained unchanged. The feral man continued to sleep.

She was reluctant to go near him, but the woodstove needed tending. She tiptoed around the motionless form and knelt to stir the coals back to life and add more wood. The flames crackled merrily. Tessa shut the door on the stove and turned to regard her slumbering guest. The last of the scarring had completely healed. Dark stubble covered his head and the sides of his face. He looked thin. Healing to such an extent ate up a ton of calories, as Tessa knew from experience. He looked almost vulnerable.

She didn't realize how close she got until his arm lashed out with lightning speed and a massive hand had her by the neck. Victor's eyes opened and his fangs bared in a triumphant snarl. He didn't look so vulnerable now.

* * *

There was warmth and the smell of woodsmoke, the feel of a blanket over him. There was also the smell of _her_, a scent that brought memories of the short time when he and his brother felt safe, accepted. Then other memories came and that brief moment of peace melted away. Victor opened his eyes. He lay on his side atop a tattered old sleeping bag spread out on the floor. His clothes were long gone; he could still smell the traces of ash and burnt flesh that clung to his skin. This drastic change in his situation left him confused, which quickly turned to frustration, which inevitably became rage. His claws extended, longing to rend and tear.

His sensitive ears picked up the faint sounds of movement in another room. A door opened. Victor shut his eyes, forced the muscles in his body to relax. He felt more than heard the silent approach of the woman whose scent he recognized all too easily (and just as hastily suppressed all but the most recent memories); the mutant frail. She must have found him after those rednecks left him for dead, brought him back to her house. Her reasons for this eluded him. Misguided compassion or plain stupidity, Victor didn't care. He had something to take his anger out on now.

The woman built up the fire in the iron stove. Victor heard the scuff of her knees on the floor and knew she was moving closer to him, probably staring at his (apparently) slumbering form. It took an effort of will not to tense up. He waited until he could hear the sound of her breathing. _Now._ He grabbed her by the throat, heard a startled gasp. He opened his eyes and grinned up at his prey. "Good morning, honey."

In one swift move he yanked her up, swung her over him, and slammed her back against the floor on his other side. Victor quickly rose up on his knees and leaned over her, bearing down on her slender neck. The woman's hands wrapped around his wrist, her brilliant green eyes wide with panic. Rivulets of blood ran down the sides of her neck from the wounds inflicted by Victor's claws. The heady mix of fear-scent and blood permeated the air, arousing the bigger mutant. Victor raised his other hand and with one long claw slit the front of her flannel shirt open, revealing pale skin and freckles across her chest. He saw the realization in her eyes and the terror that quickly followed. Victor uttered a low, sinister chuckle. His weight pressed against her. She must have felt his erection against her thigh.

"Aren't you gonna call your tree buddies to help you?" he asked with a sneer, running a claw tip down the valley between her small breasts. "Know what I think? I think it's too cold for 'em. They're all asleep. That means you're all mine now."

"V-Victor."

He froze. The sense of familiarity arose full force. "How the fuck do you know my name?" The low tone warned of impending rage.

"I-"

He leaned in until their noses almost touched. "Who the fuck are you?"

Tears beaded the corners of her eyes. Her lip trembled. "Tessa."

Hearing that name, all the little details that nagged at him fell into place. It only made the anger rise in him, burning behind his eyes. His lips drew back in a ferocious snarl. "Bullshit. You ain't her."

"I am."

_"Bullshit!"_ His claws dug into her flesh. Tessa squirmed beneath him, bare heels skidding against the floorboards.

"It's me!" she half gasped, half sobbed, "Victor, it's me. It's Tessa. I'm Tessa!"

"Fucking lie to me—"

"Josiah …"

Victor froze. Uncertainty began to cloud his expression. Encouraged by this, Tessa pushed on, "He was out checking his traps. He heard fighting. Found you and your brother … J-James? You were being attacked by wolves. Josiah chased them off with his gun and he brought the two of you home. You and James stayed with us through the winter. I'm telling you the truth, Victor. Please!"

Victor's expression showed nothing at all. She could still see the rage in him, though, smoldering behind his eyes. This stillness frightened her more, but she didn't look away.

Victor abruptly released her. Tessa gasped and touched her bloodied throat with trembling hands. The wounds inflicted by his claws were already closed. She rolled over and slowly rose up on her knees, got shakily to her feet. Victor already stood, careless of his nakedness. She could see the turmoil in his eyes.

Tessa pulled her hands from her throat, stared at the blood on them. She looked down at her torn shirt, then at Victor. "You keep ruining my clothes."

"When did you figure out who I was?" he asked in that low, dangerous voice.

Tessa closed the tattered front of her shirt and crossed her arms. "Couple days before I turned you loose." She hadn't truly been positive, though, until the moment he reacted to his name.

"Why the fuck didn't you say anything then?"

She stared at him. For a moment the fear gave way to anger. "You attacked me."

He found it difficult to look at her then. Victor was not accustomed to guilt. It was a weak emotion, one he thought he'd purged from himself long ago. He hated her for making him experience it. "Yeah, and you wanna know why? 'Cause I _could_. Because you were _there_. I've raped and butchered thousands of women and I loved _every second of it_." He bared his teeth in a rictus of hateful glee.

Tessa shook her head, her expression sorrowful. "What happened to you?"

Victor held his arms out. "I embraced my nature."

Her gaze turned cold. To throw those words back at her …

She turned away from him (rarely a wise move) and returned to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her. She went to the water closet to rinse off the blood, then changed into a different shirt. In the closet was a cardboard box with some of Dan's clothes. She'd planned to take them into town and donate them to a charity, but kept forgetting. Or maybe she just wasn't ready to let him go. She retrieved the box, opened the lid, and dug out a pair of jeans, socks, and a long-sleeved shirt. Dan, like most of the men she married, had been a tall, broad man in life. Tessa carried the clothes out into the den and flung them at Victor, who caught them easily.

"Bathroom's over there," she pointed at the door, "Might want to clean yourself up."

The mutant smirked. Tessa abruptly turned and headed for the kitchen. She could feel his stare, an itch in her shoulder blades, but did not look back.

* * *

The tub was larger than he expected, with enough room to accommodate his bulk. He ran the hottest bath he could stand and scrubbed the burnt stench from his skin. The water turned cloudy with ash. Victor watched it all run down the drain and wished the memory of the mob's attack was so easy to get rid of. Hardened though he was, not even Victor was immune to trauma. As he reached for the stack of clothing Tessa gave him he noticed a faint tremor in his hand. He growled and made a fist until it finally stopped, then he got dressed. He was pleasantly surprised at how well the clothes fit. Whoever used to wear them was only a little shorter and heftier than Victor. He could detect the ghost of the man's scent on them. Whoever it was, he obviously hadn't worn these in a long time.

He stepped out of the bathroom and his nose was assaulted with the smells of cooking eggs. Victor was suddenly aware of how painfully hungry he was. The extensive healing had taken a lot out of him. His stomach groaned. He followed the enticing odor to the kitchen where he found Tessa laboring over a gas range. On the counter beside her were an empty egg carton, an open jar of jalapenos, the discarded skin from an onion, a cutting board, a metal mixing bowl, a block of cheese next to a grater. Tessa lifted the frying pan from the burner and transferred its contents to a plate. A second plate beside it already held an omelet.

Victor knew she became aware of him when her body tensed, then she continued, her movements slower than before. She picked up both plates and a couple of forks, turned to see him lounging against the doorway leading to the den. Victor smirked, moved aside only enough for her to squeeze through. Her expression stayed neutral. She didn't even look at him as she inched passed, even though she couldn't avoid their bodies touching. Victor sauntered after her as she set the plates down at opposite sides of a table made of finished wood. She took a seat and started eating without waiting for him. Victor took the other seat. He was a little surprised at this, but supposed she preferred to keep him in her sight. He looked down at his plate, saw that she'd given him the lion's share of the eggs. This irritated him for some reason, but not enough to keep him from picking up a fork and digging in. The woman hadn't skimped on the jalapenos. Hunger made the food disappear quickly. Victor let his fork drop onto the plate with a loud clatter. He straightened, stared at the woman across from him who pointedly kept her attention on her own breakfast. The longer he looked at her, the more memories came flooding back.

Was this what it was like for humans? Victor recalled all the times he'd run into people he hadn't seen in years, sometimes decades. Their reactions were all so formulaic: the bugged eyes, the gasps, the tired exclamation—"My god, you haven't aged a day!"—as if he didn't know it. He always took it for granted that he and Jimmy never got any older while everyone else withered away. Seeing someone else unchanged after more than a century was strangely disorienting.

"How old are you?"

Tessa looked up, startled by the question. She took a while to answer. "I was born in 1704."

Victor gaped at her, for once too stunned to speak. Twice as old as him? Shit!

"I was fourteen when I Changed," she continued calmly, "I'd been promised to a man who owned a neighboring farm. His name was Nathaniel." She smiled wistfully. "I knew him since I was little. He was a good man. We were married just after winter, and during our wedding night I began to hear the music. I didn't know any better; I thought it was normal." She chuckled. "The next morning we found all the wildflowers around the homestead had spontaneously bloomed overnight."

There was a tightness in his chest Victor couldn't name. Of all the other mutants he'd encountered in his long life, he could count on one hand the number of them whose powers surfaced during a happy experience. Far more common for their mutations—their Change, as she put it—to surface in the midst of tragedy. Maybe that was why Tessa seemed more well-adjusted.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Us. Him and Jimmy. His brother's recent abandonment was still an open wound. No "us" anymore. Just Victor.

He saw regret in her eyes. "It was a whim on my part. I wanted to surprise you, show you what I could do once spring arrived. But you both left right after the first thaw."

Victor abruptly stood, almost knocking the chair over, and stomped over to the far side of the room. He stood before a window and saw only white. Not the white of a snowfield, but an actual drift pressed up against the window. He could imagine the house half buried by now.

Tessa stared at the feral's stiff back for a long moment, wondering if she should say something more. Instead, she stood and gathered up the dishes, carried them into the kitchen to wash them.

* * *

The walls were covered with pictures. Photographs: some obviously recent, their colors vibrant; some faded or yellowed with age; some black and white with decorative edges; some sepia toned with their subjects stiffly posed. The very oldest was burned onto a pane of glass rather than paper, from one of the earliest cameras. Older and fewer still were the portraits, one or two so ancient the oil paints were dried out and cracked. Tessa was in every one of these images, standing next to various men and the occasional child. Rarely was she depicted alone. Victor scrutinized a photo with her in the type of dresses he remembered from his youth. Her hair was much longer then, tied back in a modest bun. She wore a floral patterned calico dress and her face bore a hint of a smile, even though back then most saw such a display in a picture as undignified. Her hand rested on the back of a chair in which sat a burly man with a thick beard who looked as if his Sunday suit's collar was trying to strangle him. It took Victor a moment to realize the man had to be Josiah. He looked so dour in this image; Victor's memories of the man were of broad smiles and a booming laugh.

Victor turned away from the picture and the memories it provoked. A low growl issued from his throat. He paced the confines of the den like a caged panther. Tessa emerged from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and hands damp from washing the dishes. She hovered in the doorway, wary of his restlessness.

"I'm leavin' soon as this blizzard's over," he told her gruffly. The sooner he got the hell away from her the better.

"That could be a few days," she said.

"Christ. How much snow does this place get?"

"It's not just the snow," she answered calmly, "It's the wind blowing it into drifts. You won't be able to see two inches in front of you. When it finally _does_ die down, this whole clearing's completely isolated. The only road leading up here will be impassable. Try to go cross-country and you'll collapse from exposure before you get even a third of the way through the woods, if the wolves don't get to you first."

Victor gritted his teeth. "I'm not some helpless brat. I can take it."

"I'm not saying you can't, but—"

"Why the fuck d'you care anyway?" he snapped, rounding on her. Tessa jumped back half a step before she caught herself. She stood her ground as the larger mutant stalked towards her, despite her growing fear.

"You think you mean somethin' just because you took me and my brother in?" he hissed, looming over her, "History don't mean shit to me, and neither do you. You're just another frail."

Tessa didn't say anything. She didn't dare. Victor turned away and stomped towards the door. A wild howl and flurry of snow blew in as he yanked it open and stormed out of the cabin. Tessa rushed over and peered out into the storm. All she could see was a vague dark blur against the white, and then it vanished. She didn't call out to him. He would not have heard, wouldn't have listened even if he did. Tessa stood in the open doorway until her face, hands, and bare feet went numb. Part of her wanted to throw on her coat and boots and rush out after him, even though she knew it was futile. Part of her was relieved to see him go. She wasn't sure which made her feel worse.

_You can't save him a second time,_ a treacherous voice whispered in her mind, _He's not the boy you knew. He's become a monster. Let him go. You're better off._

The cold made her eyes water. That's what she told herself, anyway, as she finally shut the door.


	4. Then & Now

**A/N: **This chappie jumps back and forth between 19th Century Canada and the present. I'm labeling these segments as _THEN_ and _NOW_. Real original, I know.

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

_THEN_

Victor wouldn't let Jimmy blame himself for the situation they were in. It was that blacksmith's fault.

After months of drifting the two boys found dubious sanctuary in a small town's smithy. Victor helped at the forge while Jimmy tended the livery. In return they got an empty stable to sleep in and just enough food to keep them working. It wasn't long before Victor noticed they way the blacksmith kept staring at his little brother. Every time the man's eyes were on the younger boy a disturbing smell emanated from him. Victor wasn't sure what it meant, but he knew he didn't like it. He tried to keep Jimmy as far away from the smith as possible.

One evening the blacksmith gave Victor some work that he knew would occupy him well into the night. The boy seethed at the injustice of it even as he bent to the task. Some time later his keen ears picked up a sound no ordinary human would have heard; the faint cries of his brother. Victor immediately ran out to the livery and saw what the smith was trying to do to Jimmy. The older boy roared and raked his claws across the man's face. The smith bellowed in pain, released his hold on the younger brother, and turned his attention to Victor. The fight was brutal. Victor had the quicker reflexes, but the blacksmith was powerfully built. They bloodied each other until Victor was able to slip away and, grabbing his little brother, ran out into the night. He always regretted not killing that bastard.

The boys knew they would find no safety with the townspeople; they were, after all, only orphans and drifters to boot. So, despite it being the dead of winter, Victor led them into the woods in hopes of finding shelter away from humans and the dangers they always brought. They wandered throughout the night and well into the day. Then a snowstorm struck.

"Here, Jimmy," Victor removed his coat, draped it over the smaller boy's shoulders, "Put my coat on."

Jimmy shivered under the heavy garment. "But what about you?"

"I'm not cold." It wasn't a total lie. The effort of breaking the trail made him sweat.

They slogged on through waist-high drifts. Their sense of time stretched and distorted. How long they walked, hours, days, an eternity, neither could tell. The continual snowfall and bitter wind only added to their misery. Victor knew he'd led them both to their doom. They should have toughed it out back in town. Now they were gonna freeze to death and their bodies frozen under a mountain of snow until spring came along and the scavengers ate up whatever was left. He should've gutted that fat blacksmith when he had the ch—

Victor stopped so abruptly that Jimmy slammed into him. "Hey! What—"

_"Shh!"_ the older boy hissed. His eyes scanned the surrounding woods. He nudged his brother. "Start back the way we came," he whispered, "Real slow."

Eyes wide, Jimmy nodded and did what he said. He only got a few steps when Victor grabbed his arm. "Damn. They got behind us, too."

"Who?"

Victor inhaled. "Cancha smell 'em?"

And suddenly Jimmy could. A smell like wet dog, but in some indefinable way _wilder_. A tremor ran through the younger boy which had nothing to do with the cold.

As if given an unseen signal, the wolves leapt from their cover and rushed towards the boys. Winter had not been kind to this pack. They were gaunt creatures, desperate for prey. Victor grabbed his brother and half shoved, half threw him towards the nearest tree. "Climb up! Go! Go!"

Jimmy scrabbled up the trunk, driving splinters under his nails. His brother's coat slipped from his shoulders and fell to the ground. Victor spun to face their attackers, teeth bared and claws extended. The first animal collided with him and they rolled in the snow, snapping and clawing. Their snarls filled with visceral rage. Blood flew, stark against the white landscape. Victor sank his teeth into the wolf's throat. Hot blood sprayed his face, clotted his throat. He reveled in the metal taste. The first wolf fell only to be replaced by several more. Victor fought bravely, but in the end he was still just a boy and greatly outnumbered. He was distantly aware of his brother's screams overhead as the growling pack overwhelmed him.

An explosive sound ripped the air. A wolf yowled, dropped to the ground, blood flowing from its side. The rest of the pack fled, vanishing into the forest like ghosts.

Covered in blood, his clothes in tatters, Victor rolled onto his side and stared blearily at the massive, hairy figure clutching a rifle in its paws. A bear with a gun? As the figure neared his eyes blinked into focus. Not a bear, but a huge man swathed in thick furs. Most of his exposed face was concealed behind a thick beard, thus adding to his bearlike appearance. The beard split into a white-toothed grin. "Well, now. That was somethin'!"

Jimmy scrambled down from the tree and knelt beside his brother. "Victor! You killed a wolf!" Indeed, one of the two dead animals lay with its guts spilled out on the snow.

"He surely did," the stranger agreed, "Laid into 'em proper." Gun cradled in the crook of his elbow, he regarded the boys with mellow brown eyes. "You alright, son?" he asked Victor.

The older boy rose unsteadily to his feet, one hand on his brother's shoulder for support. "I'm alright. Don't need any help." His wounds had already healed themselves, though his clothes were beyond saving.

The bearlike man shook his head. "First part might be true, but two young-uns alone in the woods in the dead o' winter, even boys as tough as you, are in definite need of aid. Now, I ain't much of a churchgoin' man, but I'm still Christian enough to offer you fellas a stay at my home, least till you're both better able to take care o' yourselves out here."

There was no mistaking the distrust in their expressions. In their experience, help was never offered for free. Question was how high a cost this man would want them to pay.

"Your choice of course," the man assured them, "But if I was you I wouldn't wanna spent any more time out in the cold without at least a hot supper in my belly and some warmer clothes."

The thought of a house with a fire, hot food, and thick coats only made the boys' shivers more pronounced. Victor especially, clad in blood-soaked rags in the process of freezing to his skin, understood the truth of the man's words. What choice did they have? He nodded.

Again, that ear-spanning grin. "Alright then. C'mon." He turned and started to backtrack his own footprints, partially blurred by the falling snow. The two boys reluctantly followed. "Name's Josiah, by the by," he said over his shoulder, "Didn't catch your names."

Jimmy glanced at his older brother. At the other boy's nod, he answered, "I'm James. This is my brother, Victor."

"Glad t' meet you both," Josiah replied amiably. He led them to where a large travois waited, hitched to a dun-colored mule. The travois was loaded with a variety of animal pelts. Victor could smell the blood on them.

"Lucky for you I was out checkin' the traps. Shame we had t' leave them wolf pelts behind, but I'm guessin' you'll wanna get warmed up soon as possible," said Josiah. "You boys can ride on top o' the fur pile. Daisy won't mind the extra load, willya, darlin'?"

The mule snorted indifferently.

The brothers climbed atop the pile where they huddled together. Josiah picked up a bearhide he was lucky to get before the unsuspecting bear managed to fully wake from its disturbed winter's sleep and draped over both boys, fur-side in. He then went to pick up the mule's tether, gave it a light tug, and clicked his tongue. "C'mon, darlin'. Let's head on home."

The travois lurched forward.

Jimmy whispered to his brother, "He seems nice."

Victor murmured grimly, "So did the blacksmith."

The snowfall let up as they traveled. Snow drifts did not seem to hinder the stoic Daisy, and Josiah wore a pair of snowshoes. They made good time, all things considered. Eventually they reached a small clearing that held an equally small cabin. Smoke rose invitingly from the chimney. Josiah hitched the mule to a convenient fencepost and led his young charges to the house. "Woman!" he bellowed cheerfully, removing the snowshoes and stamping the snow from his boots, "We got company."

Victor and Jimmy could not help but stare at the approaching woman. In an era when desirable women were petite and round, Josiah's wife stood as tall as most men and willow-thin. Her long, dark hair hung loose down her back, her dress simple homespun dyed forest green, and her feet were bare. She smiled at the two shivering strays, unsurprised by their arrival. And why would she be, when it was she who'd observed their wandering through the forest and advised her husband to go meet them, checking his fur traps along the way so he'd have a plausible excuse for being out there?

"Fellas," Josiah slung a beefy arm around the woman's slender waist, drawing her against him, "meet the missus. Tessa, this here's Victor and James. Seems they had a run-in with some hungry wolves."

Tessa's brow furrowed in concern. "Are either of you hurt?" Her speech was surprisingly cultured, compared to her husband's.

"We're fine," Victor said hastily, despite his bloodied clothes. He curled his hands into fists to hide the claws.

Tessa smiled, stepped out of her husband's hold and extended her own hands. "Come on. Let's get you both cleaned up and get something hot in your bellies."

Jimmy let the woman's hand rest on his shoulder. Victor, however, shied away from her touch. If this bothered her, it didn't show. Still smiling, she gestured for him to follow, leading the two boys deeper into the house.

After a thorough wash—in which she noticed no sign of injury on either child, though their ribs stood out alarmingly—Tessa dressed each of them in one of Josiah's sweaters. The garments were large enough for the sleeves to have to be rolled up several times and the hems to hang well below their knees. She then sat them at the table and ladled them two generous helpings of stew from the large pot that simmered on the stove.

"Take your time," she admonished gently, "If you eat too fast it'll all come back up again."

A loaf of some sort of bread sat on the table. Tessa cut them each a slice. While neither boy cared much for bread most times, they were both so hungry they accepted them without hesitation.

Victor sniffed his bread slice. It had a nutty scent that was vaguely familiar. He took a cautious bite, chewed thoughtfully. "What kinda bread's this?"

"Acorn bread."

Both boys looked surprised. "Aren't acorns real bitter?" Jimmy asked.

"Not if you prepare them right," Tessa explained, "Many of the Indian tribes lived mostly on acorns. You can grind them up as flour, just like corn or wheat, and they're plentiful in this area." She smiled. "You don't need to farm as long as there's oak trees around."

Josiah brought two more bowls of stew for himself and his wife. This startled the boys, who were accustomed to women serving the food. They kept silent, though, not wanting to risk angering their hosts. The four of them ate in relative silence. The brothers, despite their attempts to take it slow, still finished their meals well ahead of the adults. Naturally, after a long ordeal and with food in their stomachs, exhaustion quickly followed. Jimmy laid his head on the table and began to snore softly. Victor, less trustful of their situation, nevertheless felt his head grow heavy. He nodded, struggling to stay awake.

The adult couple exchanged looks, then rose from their seats. Josiah carefully lifted Jimmy into his powerful arms. The smaller boy hardly even stirred as he was carried to a different room. Tessa gently took Victor by the shoulders. This time, he was too tired to flinch at her touch.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

The boy slowly stood and let her guide him through a door into a cozy room dominated by a wide bed. Jimmy was already tucked into one side. Victor lay down beside his brother, eyes already closed, as he felt a heavy blanket pulled over him. The pillow held the woman's scent; forest greenery and acorn bread. He felt gentle fingers brush the hair from his brow.

"Good night, Victor."

Victor sighed and slipped into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

_NOW_

Over a century later, Victor once again fought the desire to sleep. This time, it was brought on by the cold rather than warmth and safety.

He hadn't gone far when he stormed out of Tessa's cabin. The blizzard seemed to swallow him up as soon as he was a few paces from the door. The stumbled around until his outstretched hand encountered the cold bricks of the outdoor oven and maneuvered himself beneath its overhang. There he huddled, slowly freezing to death. Well, perhaps not actual _death_, but certainly hypothermia. He still wore only the borrowed clothes of Tessa's deceased husband, not even boots to protect his feet. Victor knew he was stupid to have rushed out into this horrific weather, but at the time he thought if he didn't get out of that cabin he might suffocate on memories of better times, when he had a brother who still loved him and fewer demons to haunt him. Before he learned the hard way that nothing could ever last.

Victor and Jimmy grew up. They tried to channel their natural aggressions in ways that might do some good, fighting in war after war. At first, they really tried to fight for the side they both believed was right. In the United States' Civil War they fought for the Union to end slavery. In World War I—at the time known only as the Great War—they fought in the trenches of France to hold off the invading Hun. In World War II, they stormed the beaches at Normandy. By then, for Victor at least, it was less about righteousness and more about his increasing desire for bloodshed. In war he was free to unleash his animal side, to slash and tear, to watch enemy after enemy fall beneath his claws. They were all going to die anyway, he reasoned. Humans were born for it. They got sick, they aged, they got in car accidents or slipped in the fucking bathtub. They were frail. What difference did it make if they died by Victor's actions or nature's?

But Jimmy didn't see it that way. Whereas Victor reveled in the violence, his brother wearied of it, and the more time passed the more they became strangers to each other. Then one day, not long after they shipped out to Vietnam, Victor looked into his brother's eyes and _knew_. It was like a chasm opened up beneath him and swallowed him whole; Jimmy was thinking of leaving him. His brother, the only thing in his life that offered permanence and stability, whom he believed felt the same about him. The realization terrified Victor. But by then he was too steeped in his own volatile nature. When confronted with the prospect of abandonment, instead of trying to work it out with Jimmy, he threw himself into the fighting with increased fervor. The viciousness of his attacks made even his fellow soldiers leery of him. The more violence Victor perpetrated, the more he drove his brother away, the more frightened he became and so turned to even more violence. On and on in a vicious, self-fulfilling prophesy. Victor knew what he did was self-destructive, but couldn't bring himself to stop. He couldn't allow himself to show weakness, even at the cost of the one person in this whole wretched world that he loved.

Victor thought nothing could be worse than the day Jimmy walked out on him. Not even when, after they defeated Deadpool together, Jimmy said to him, "This doesn't change anything between us, Victor. We're done." Thus rejecting him a second time. But Victor was wrong. Something far worse did happen years later when the two brothers encountered each other again. Victor had looked into Jimmy's eyes and saw … nothing. No recognition. Somehow, Jimmy had forgotten all about him. All their years together, fighting side by side, protecting each other. All forgotten as if none of it ever happened. It was as if his brother had died.

In anguish, Victor tried to _make_ his brother remember him the only way he knew how; by attacking him. All he succeeded in doing was making Jimmy, now simply Logan, see him as a hated enemy.

His brother abandoned him. Victor was alone. He couldn't even mourn; his humanity was too long suppressed. Instead, he embraced the monster everyone always told him he was.

Everyone but _her_. Tessa. A woman who should have been long dead, bones in the ground. She should never have seen what Victor had become.

"Victor!" The voice was faint, garbled by the rushing wind. Still, it could only be one person.

Victor's eyelashes were caked with ice. He had to scrub at them to open his eyes. A blurry figure emerged from the surrounding white; Tessa clad in her fur-lined parka. How the hell did she find him? Did her tree buddies tell her? She crouched down beside him. A mittened hand reached out, but hesitated to touch him. "Please come back inside," she shouted over the storm.

Victor pretended not to notice her, even though she was less than a foot away. He couldn't muster the energy at this point to do anything more. If he thought she'd take the hint, he was soon disappointed. She actually took hold of his arm and tried to pull him up. He jerked away with a snarl.

"You can ignore me just as easily indoors," she reasoned, grabbing his arm again. Still, the larger mutant refused to budge. Tessa sighed in exasperation, the sound lost to the howling wind. "I'm not leaving till you come with me."

_Stubborn bitch._ Victor tried to swat her, but his arm felt like a block of ice. Tessa's persistence and his increasing numbness finally succeeded in eroding his resolve. Victor rose, then followed the woman who clutched his frozen wrist in one hand, her other hand gripping a length of rope which led from the brick oven to the house.

Inside, the heat made his frozen extremities scream. The shivers which had ceased minutes before now returned with a vengeance.

Tessa stripped out of her parka and mittens, kicked off her boots. "Take off your clothes. They're all wet."

Normally such an order would have earned her a leer, but Victor just wasn't in the mood. He managed to get out of the soaked clothes despite the tremors that wracked his body. Tessa wrapped him in a blanket and told him to lie down in front of the woodstove. The sleeping bag was still spread out on the floor. Victor lay down on it. His body curled into a fetal position and he continued to shiver.

Tessa stood over him. "You okay?"

"Fuckin' great," he growled.

She lowered herself to the floor a few feet away from him, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her legs. She wiggled her bare toes. Didn't the woman ever wear socks?

"What happened to your brother?" she asked.

Victor ground his teeth. He surprised himself by answering, "Nothin'. Ran off to join this private school for freaks. Buncha do-gooders out saving the world."

Tessa shook her head. "The nerve of some people."

Victor snorted, amused in spite of himself. He sat up, the blanket still wrapped around him. The shivers had subsided a little to where he could talk without his teeth chattering. Tessa tensed a little, then relaxed when he made no further moves. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Tessa asked the question Victor knew she wanted to ask all along.

"Why did you and your brother leave?"

Victor shrugged. His nose began to run. He carelessly wiped it on the edge of the blanket. "Told you we'd go when spring came."

"And Josiah and I said you could both stay as long as you wanted."

"Well, we _wanted_ to leave in the spring," he snapped. "What d'you care? You and Josiah probably had plenty of kids of your own later on."

Tessa frowned at his assumption. "Victor, I can't have kids."

"What about the brats in those pictures?" He waved a hand at the far wall and the numerous frames it bore.

"Some of them were adopted. Some of them were my husbands' from previous relationships. I've never gotten pregnant, and believe me, I've tried."

He stared at her, the narrow hips, the small breasts. In many ways she was built like a twelve-year-old girl on the cusp of puberty. Even her scent, now that he really thought about it, contained none of the pheromones he associated with fully mature women. "So you're like a nymph."

The corner of her mouth quirked in a wry half-smile. "I used to think I was a dryad. My maternal grandparents were from Greece and my nana used to tell me the old myths about gods and magical creatures." She shrugged. "Maybe that's how some of the myths got started. Maybe all those creatures and demigods were really mutants."

Victor never had much use for deep thought. "'Kay, now I've got a question for you."

She tilted her head. "Oh?"

He leaned towards her, his gaze intense. "Why'd you come after me?"

The question seemed to trouble her. She caught her lower lip in her teeth, eyes averted in thought. Finally, she looked at him. "I don't know."

"Yeah, you do," he retorted, "You just don't wanna say."

Tessa sighed. "You'll think it's foolish."

"Probably."

"I can't believe there isn't some part of you that's still that boy I took in a century ago. I thought maybe … maybe I could help bring it out of you."

His face took on that closed-off look again. She knew she'd hit a nerve. "So, what?" he asked coldly, "You wanna save me? Is that it?"

"Victor—"

"I don't want your goddamned _pity_," he spat the word out like it left a bitter taste, "I'm not some weak frail who needs somebody to hug me and tell me everything's gonna be okay. I've done without that shit my whole life!"

He could smell her nervousness, but her voice remained steady. "Okay. I was just being honest."

No apology. Perhaps she understood that saying she was sorry would be perceived by him as a weakness, which might provoke him into more aggressive action. Or maybe she just wasn't the apologizing sort. Victor couldn't recall her using the word sorry very often when he was a boy, only when she truly believed herself in the wrong.

He suddenly stood, letting the blanket fall. Tessa's eyes widened and her face colored a little, but she didn't turn away. The scent of her nervousness increased, mixed with a touch of arousal. Victor smirked.

"Um," Tessa stammered, "W-what're you—"

"I gotta take a leak."

"Oh. Er, the water closet's through the bedroom." She pointed.

The naked man strode past her. Tessa stared at the discarded blanket, chewing her lip. "Certainly not a _boy_ anymore," she muttered to herself. Her hand went to her mouth to suppress a laugh.

Once Victor's bladder was empty he nosed around the woman's bedroom. A king sized bed with a wooden headboard that contained a couple of bookshelves, all crammed with paperbacks. An oil lamp on the nightstand; apparently she didn't get electricity out here. The closet door was open and he saw the overhead shelf contained a number of cardboard boxes, one of which was labeled "Dan's Clothes." He pulled that one down and opened it.

Victor returned to the den dressed in a sweatshirt and cargo pants. Tessa was gone. His nose detected the scent of cooking meat and spices. He went to the kitchen, found her standing over a pot on the stove. She glanced at him.

"I'm heating up some canned chili. Figured you wouldn't want to wait." He was still too thin from is ordeal the day before.

Victor grunted. It was as close to a thank you as she'd get. He noticed a loaf of homemade bread on the counter. He moved closer and the familiar scent of acorn bread reached his nostrils.

Of all the body's senses, scent is most closely linked to memory. Smelling the bread, Victor recalled the day Tessa spent showing him and Jimmy how to make the bread, from preparing the raw acorns, to grinding the flour, all the way to the finished loaf. Victor mostly watched, thinking it women's work. Jimmy was not so disinclined. Victor remembered his younger brother kneading a ball of raw dough, and how proud he was of the lopsided loaf that came out of the oven. They ate it with their dinner that evening, and everyone told Jimmy it was the best they'd ever tasted.

Victor felt a strange tightness in his throat at the thought of him and his brother as children, back when they knew they'd always be together. He reached out, broke off the end of the loaf, and brought it to his mouth. The taste was just as he remembered.


	5. Unfulfilled: Then & Now pt2

**Warning:** Okay, there is a sex scene at the end of this chapter that I suppose could be labeled semi-con. I'll leave it up to you to decide if it was rape or not.

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

_THEN_

The brothers flourished under Tessa's and Josiah's care. Both put on much needed weight and the constant worries that haunted their young faces began to fade. Jimmy especially benefited from the stability offered by the isolated home. He was soon acting like a regular boy, lively and precocious. Victor was grateful to the two adults for that.

Mornings were spent doing chores around the house. Nothing too strenuous; helping Josiah with his traps or curing hides, clearing snow away from the door, collecting firewood. (It was odd that at times wandering through the forest a dead branch would suddenly drop from a nearby tree, almost as if waiting for the boys to gather it up for the woodpile.) Josiah never abused the boys' willingness to work, and when evening rolled around he immediately turned them over to his wife who put them to other tasks, such as reading and writing.

Jimmy fell into the lessons easily, having been tutored at the family manor. Victor, however …

"It's stupid," he groused, "What 'm I ever gonna need to know this stuff for?" He glared at the open book before him. The words might as well have been in Chinese for all the sense he could make of them.

He, Jimmy, and Tessa were all seated together on the bearskin rug before the fireplace. This had surprised the boys initially, but Tessa's reasoning was if they had to endure her lessons, they might as well be comfortable.

Tessa lifted a thin length of wood from the fire, one end charred black. "Do you know your ABC's?"

Victor gave a sullen half-shrug. He watched as the woman ran the charred end of the stick on the hearthstones, leaving behind a series of black marks. The marks were letters.

"Every letter has a sound," Tessa explained patiently, "A sound very similar to the letter's name." She held up the stick. "Kindling. _Kuh-_indling. What's the first letter of that word."

Jimmy spoke up, "It's—"

"Let your brother answer, James," she chided gently. Her green eyes regarded the elder brother, the corners of her mouth upturned in a faint smile of encouragement.

Another half-shrug. "That's easy. K." He glanced at her sidelong.

Tessa nodded. "That's right." Victor feigned indifference, even as he felt his heart speed up a little at her smile.

She pointed to the marks on the stones. "Can you tell me what this says? Take your time. Sound out each letter."

Victor fidgeted, self-conscious under her and his brother's scrutiny. "Sss … muh … ayy … arr … tuh."

"Say it a little faster now."

"Smuh-ar-tuh. Smart."

Tessa grinned. "Congratulations." There was none of the condescension or disdain Victor had come to expect from educated people. It made him think he might actually stand a chance.

"Hmph," he grunted, "That's not so hard."

The woman chuckled. "Well, since you've become confident, let's try something a little tougher. What does this one say?" And on the lessons went as the weeks passed until Victor found he could read almost as well as his brother.

Weeks rapidly slid into months. Victor and Jimmy grew ever more comfortable in this place that began to feel like home. Only rarely did the nightmares that plagued them both occur now, and when they did Tessa was always there to reassure them, no matter how late in the night they woke.

Neither she nor Josiah ever questioned them on their past, where they were from, why they'd been running. The brothers were glad, for they weren't comfortable with the idea of lying to them. The truth was never considered an option. Yet in the end, the truth, or a big part of it, made itself known anyway.

That day the cabin's walls seemed especially close, so the four of them bundled up and went outside for some fresh air. Somewhere along the line a snowball fight broke out. There was laughter and running, missiles that exploded into glittering flakes, red faces and blue fingertips. Then a lumbering Josiah startled a rabbit from it's hiding place. Its winter coat was as white as the snow around it. The sight of the frightened animal streaking by brought Victor's predatory instincts surging to the forefront. He bared his sharp teeth and bounded after it. The rabbit swerved to avoid him. He dropped to all fours, bare hands sinking into the packed snow, leaping gracefully. His claws, which he kept so carefully trimmed back, extended from his fingertips. The panicked rabbit turned again, headed back the way it originally came. Jimmy was there, his own teeth bared in a feral grin as the skin at the back of each hand twitched ominously. He darted forward to intercept their prey. _Snikt!_ Long spikes of hard bone burst through the skin, stabbed downwards. The rabbit uttered a single scream and fell silent, its snowy coat now stained bright red. Victor reared up. Both boys stared at each other, panting, as the bloodlust receded from their wide eyes. Blood dripped from Jimmy's bone claws.

The realization of what they'd done brought with it a stab of dread. Victor's legs tensed, his clawed fingers flexed, ready to run or fight. He saw Jimmy take a similar stance. A long, tense silence fell. Tessa was the first to break it.

"Guess we're having rabbit for dinner."

Josiah bellowed a laugh of delighted wonder. "You see how fast those boys were? If I'd a known they could do all that I'd 've taken' them huntin' with me."

This was not the reaction they'd expected.

"You're not mad?" Jimmy asked in a small voice. His expression was a heartbreaking mixture of anxiety and hopefulness.

Tessa went to him, pulling off one of her mittens to take his hand in her own. She didn't seem troubled by the blood. Her fingertips gently traced the areas between his knuckles where the claws emerged through the skin. "That looks painful," she said in a voice tinged with sympathy.

"It only hurts when they come out," the boy hurried to assure her. He let them withdraw into his arm. The wounds they left immediately healed themselves. Tessa smiled and have his hand a light squeeze.

"Come on." She released his hand, bent down to pick up the dead rabbit. "Let's go inside and clean this."

Josiah clapped Victor on the shoulder. "C'mon, boy. Say, you ever try takin' down a full grown deer with them claws o' yours?"

Later, while Josiah regaled Jimmy with some of his own hunting exploits, Victor slipped away and went into the kitchen where Tessa was preparing the meat. She'd already skinned the rabbit and removed its entrails. She was in the process of removing the head and feet and cutting the body into quarters. She glanced at the boy hovering in the doorway.

"Something on your mind, Victor?"

"Why aren't you mad?" he demanded. He'd been quiet ever since it happened, a brooding silence that Tessa knew by now he could not be coaxed from. She could only wait for him to bring up whatever was bothering him.

"For what?" she asked, placing the meat in a roasting pan, "Killing a rabbit?"

"For these." He held up his hands. The claws at the ends of his fingers lengthened to deadly talons.

Tessa stared at them levelly, wiping her hands on her apron. "They don't bother me. They're part of you."

"The bad part."

"No," she said firmly, "There's nothing wrong with you or James."

"Yes there is! Everybody says so. Anybody who finds out." Victor didn't know why he was trying so hard to convince her of something he desperately wanted not to be true. He and Jimmy had been called monsters, freaks, abominations. One man, a preacher, said they were demons and tried to have them burned at the stake. The brothers had to hurt a lot of people before they got away that time.

Tessa was saddened by his words, but unsurprised. "Those are small-minded people who never see past their own fears." She stepped closer to him, laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. Victor tensed, but didn't pull away. "Do you know what _I_ saw?" she asked, "I saw children embracing their natures. You and James are just wilder than most others. Josiah and I don't think any less of you for that. You're good boys who've led a hard life." She gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "You don't have to hide yourselves from us. I promise."

Victor stared up into her deep green eyes. He knew she meant it, every word. Words of gratitude lodged in his throat, unspoken. Instead, he asked, "Need any help?"

Tessa smiled. "You could give me a hand peeling the potatoes."

"Sure." Victor held up a claw. "Don't even need a knife."

Tessa laughed, a high, musical sound which made the boy's heart stutter in his chest.

* * *

_NOW_

Days and nights blurred together, one into the other. Victor continued to sleep on the floor; the sofa wasn't long enough. Tessa offered him her bed while she took the couch, but he refused. "Never let it be said I'm not a gentleman," he said with his typical smirk. The truth was, he never would've gotten to sleep in a bed saturated with her scent.

Victor hated this. It was like all the painful adolescent longing had resurfaced. It was an aspect of himself he thought he'd expunged long ago. Victor fucked who he wanted, when he wanted. Random girls he passed on the street, women he picked up in seedy bars, even the occasional prostitute. They screamed and begged, fought back, surrendered, and bled. So easily. Tessa would have been just another faceless conquest, but then she had to go and tell him who she was. None of the frails he took had names. He didn't _want_ to know them. They were nothing but toys; distracting, enjoyable, and ultimately disposable. Now he was stranded in the middle of a fucking blizzard with a woman he found more attractive the longer he was around her, and he couldn't bring himself to do anything to her because he _knew_ her. Karma biting him in the ass.

He wasn't about to let her know all that, of course. Victor continued to behave in his usual brazen manner, sneering at her friendly remarks, leering at her, keeping her at a distance with his careless attitude and wry sarcasm. It was difficult to maintain; after talking to her for a few minutes he would find himself letting his guard down. He tried to keep his distance, but what the hell else was there to do? Without electricity there was no television, no internet. He couldn't go outside until the storm passed. He didn't have the patience for reading. All he could do was try to keep the subject off himself.

"So, tell me about Dan."

Tessa looked up from the book she was reading. She and Victor were seated on opposite ends of the couch, he with his feet propped up on the coffee table, she with her legs curled against her. Victor had an urge to reach out and grasp her bare ankle, his long fingers encircling it like a manacle. These random desires for physical contact were getting harder to deny. Victor wondered why he fought them at all, and why they troubled him so.

"Why do you wanna know about him?" she asked.

"Well, I _am_ wearin' the guy's clothes."

She shrugged, hugged the open book against her stomach like a security pillow. "Well, he was a webmaster. Made a fortune off of a social networking site he came up with."

Victor thought about the man he'd seen in the most recent pictures; the guy looked more like a lumberjack than a computer nerd.

"Right around the time he sold his company the government decided to sell off a large portion of the land that for the last fifty years or so has been part of a national park," Tessa continued, "I worked as a ranger then, and I was pissed about this decision. I just knew the forest was gonna be bought up by a lumber company or some real estate tycoon who wanted to put up a dozen new condos. When I found out the majority of the available forest was being bought up by this web tycoon, I went right up to him and gave him a piece of my mind. I must've ranted a good twenty minutes at the poor guy. He just stared at me the whole time with this gobsmacked look on his face and when I finally ran out of steam he just kind of shook his head like he was rousing from a daydream and said, 'Sorry, I didn't catch your name. You wanna have dinner with me?'" Tessa laughed her musical laugh and shook her head.

Victor maintained an air of boredom as he asked (obviously just to humor her), "So d' you take him up on it?"

"Not right away. I was still mad at him. But then he told me he had no intention of cutting down the trees. Turns out, even though he had a natural talent for the internet, Dan never enjoyed modern life. For him it was just a means of accumulating enough money to take an early retirement and live the way he wanted to." She indicated their surroundings. "We figured it all out together. No electricity; just a small generator to power the deep freeze during the warmer times of the year and the clothes dryer in the winter. Water's from an artesian well. There's a large propane tank for the hot water heater and the stove, and when the fuel runs out there's still plenty of dead wood to burn."

"Wait a sec," Victor straightened, "Are you tellin' me you _own_ this whole forest?"

Tessa smiled. "We were married for five years when Dan was diagnosed with lymphoma. He died almost two years ago." She pursed her lips. Her eyes turned aside; they shone with remembered pain. "It was always a given that I'd outlive him, but I never thought our time together would be so short."

"He knew about you bein' a mutant?" Victor asked.

She nodded. "All the men I married knew. I wanted them to understand what they were getting into."

Victor frowned. He couldn't imagine that kind of trust.

"What about you?" Tessa asked, her manner cheerful again, "You ever confide in the women you were with?"

The feral man's expression darkened. "The fuck do you mean by that?"

Tessa realized she'd made a mistake, but couldn't figure out what it was. She squeezed herself into the corner of the sofa. Her fear-scent began to emanate from her skin. "I—"

Victor stood. The woman's fear spiked, but instead of attacking her the mutant started to pace, his long strides covering the distance between the walls with ease. He reminded Tessa of a caged tiger.

"Christ, you can be so dense," he snarled. He paused and faced her, a cloud of anger surrounding him. "You think any of the women I fucked ever wanted to _talk?_ Look at me!" He held up his hands with their lethal claws, bared his razor fangs. "They fuckin' knew what I am. They couldn't get away from me fast enough. The ones who could still run when I was done with 'em, anyway."

Tessa swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I'm sorry I upset you."

Victor scoffed. He turned away from her, gazed out the nearest window. The storm was far less violent at this point.

"It should be over by tomorrow," Tessa quietly volunteered. Victor grunted. Tessa stared at his back, the thickening growth of hair on his head, the broad shoulders, the powerful hands loose at his sides, fingers curled like they wanted to shred something. Every time she found herself growing comfortable with him, his mercurial temper would flare up again, reminding her that he was no longer a troubled, yet mostly innocent, child. He was a predator, and his prey were other human beings.

"One of these days it'll finally get through to you," he murmured, sounding almost as if he spoke to himself, "I'm an animal."

The wise thing would have been to keep silent. Tessa wasn't always wise, despite her age. "You've killed and tortured others, not for survival, but because you enjoyed it. Sounds awful human to me."

Victor's back remained turned, though his hands slowly curled into fists. Tessa rose from the couch, still clutching her book. "It's late. I'm going to bed." Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Good night, Victor."

He heard the door shut behind her.

* * *

_THEN_

Victor had his first erotic dream when he still lived with his father. He'd woken to the slap of Logan's free hand—the other clutching a mostly empty bottle—with the evidence of his wayward subconscious soaking his bed. His father let him know on no uncertain terms what a disgusting creature he was. The dreams didn't end, of course; they brought him the only pleasure he'd ever experienced. They only subsided when he and Jimmy went on the run, bare survival being a great suppressor of one's libido. Now his new found sense of safety marked the return of the dreams, only instead of faceless, voiceless abstracts he found himself dreaming of one specific woman.

Each morning he woke to soiled bedclothes and a deep sense of shame. He insisted on washing his own things in order to hide the evidence from the others, especially from _her_, but he knew from the sympathetic looks she gave him that she was aware of his young body's betrayal. The fact that she wasn't at all disgusted somehow only worsened Victor's self-loathing. Tessa took him and Jimmy in and cared for them like a mother. Victor should not be repaying her kindness with such tainted dreams.

But it wasn't just dreams. When awake, all Victor wanted to do was get closer to her, to breathe in her forest scent, feel the touch of her gentle hands. He died a little each time she smiled at him. Her musical laugh made his heart ache in a way he wished would never end. He knew these feelings were wrong, but he couldn't think of a way to make them stop. He wasn't sure he even wanted them to.

Victor hoped that time would make his desires fade, but as the winter progressed they only became stronger. He began to spend more and more time out in the wilderness, sometimes with Josiah or Jimmy, more often alone. Sometimes he returned with game. He knew the others worried about him, especially Jimmy, but confinement in the cabin with Tessa was too much for the young man to bear. All he had to do was look at his hands to know that even if she weren't already married, even if they were both the same age, Tessa would never feel the same way for him. She was kind and loving, but she was still human, and Victor, despite all Tessa's protests to the contrary, wasn't.

The daylight hours gradually lengthened. The breezes held the promise of warmth. The spring thaw was on its way.

"There's somethin' we've been wantin' to ask you boys," Josiah said one evening at the table.

Jimmy and Victor looked up from their plates, the former curious, the latter wary.

"Even though you said you'd leave come spring," the burly man continued, smiling as always, "The missus and I talked it over and, well, we'd like you boys to consider stayin' on."

"This place has become as much your home as ours," Tessa added, also smiling.

Jimmy's face lit up. "You really mean that?"

"Absolutely," Tessa replied warmly.

Jimmy turned to his older brother, his expression ecstatic. "We can stay, Victor!"

Victor's own face was an inscrutable mask. He pursed his lips. "We gotta decide right now?"

"Course not," Josiah hastened to assure him, "There's plenty o' time for you t' make up your minds."

"Also," Tessa met her husband's eyes, "there's something we'd like to show you after the thaw once you do decide."

The look both adults shared spoke of secrecy. Neither boy thought to wonder at this, however, each distracted for different reasons.

The snow began to melt days later. Jimmy was awakened one night after the first patches of muddy ground were bared. He gazed sleepily up at his brother, the faintest light enhanced by his keen eyes. He saw that Victor was dressed and carried a pack on his shoulder. "What're you doin'?" the younger boy asked groggily.

Victor answered in a whisper, "I'm leavin', Jimmy."

He sat up, frowning in puzzlement. "Leaving?"

"We said we'd only stay till winter was over."

"But that was before Tessa 'n' Josiah said we could stay," Jimmy's voice began to rise in distress. His brother shushed him.

"I know it's been great here. Josiah and Tessa 've been better to us than anyone. But I still hafta go. You," he hesitated, the next words painful to say, "You can stay on, if you want."

Jimmy's eyes widened. He knew better than to ask Victor why he had to leave and in the dead of night while the adults slept. Victor seldom answered the "why" questions, especially in regards to his own motives. All Jimmy had to know was that he needed to make a decision; to stay or to go. He looked the older boy in the eye. "We're brothers. And brothers protect each other."

Victor couldn't quite hide his relief. "Alright. Get dressed 'n' pack your stuff."

Jimmy took the time to write a note using one of the precious sheets of paper Tessa kept in a drawer. He wrote that he and Victor were alright, that they had somewhere to go. A kind lie. Then he shouldered his pack and followed his brother out the door. Outside it was cold. The puddles left by the melted snow were frozen over. Jimmy paused to look back at the cabin one last time. A lump formed in his throat.

"C'mon," Victor said brusquely, but not unkindly, waiting for his brother to catch up. The two boys entered the forest and began the journey to a long and turbulent future. Victor never once looked back.

* * *

_NOW_

Velvet softness enveloped him. Gentle hands caressed. Soft lips explored the contours of his body. A sweet whisper, _Victor … _

Victor's eyes flew open. An involuntary gasp escaped. He lay on the sleeping bag, his skin feverish and damp with sweat. He couldn't remember the last time he had a sex dream that intense that left him so unfulfilled. He still had a raging hard-on that tented the blanket. It throbbed painfully in time to his pounding heart. It wouldn't take more than a few strokes with his hand to finish off, but he made no move to do so.

He remembered every detail of the dream-lover's face. The same face he'd been looking at every day he was stuck in this godforsaken cabin. The bitch. Padding around with her bare feet, teasing him with her easy smiles, forcing him to confront the thing he'd spent the last century running from. Now she was invading his dreams just like when he was a hormonal kid. Victor clenched his fists around wads of the sleeping bag's fabric. His claws ripped through the material.

The pain of his erection heightened his senses. Beyond the walls of the house was stillness; the wind finally died. His ears detected the faint crackle of coals in the woodstove, the groan of the cabin settling, and also, just at the very edge of his hearing, the sound of Tessa's breathing from within her bedroom. Her scent was everywhere, on the furniture, the walls. On _him_. It was too much. Victor flung the blanket off him and shot to his feet. He needed to get away, clear his head. The winter air on his naked skin would do that.

His oversensitized ears picked up the creak of bedsprings; Tessa shifting in her sleep. His erection twitched painfully. He needed … he needed … His feet carried him to the door.

Tessa woke to the sound of her bedroom door opening. She blinked groggily; everything was shadows, dawn still hours ahead. She thought she could make out a vague silhouette. "Victor?"

It all happened too fast for her to react. She felt a presence loom over her, heard his ragged breathing. The covers were yanked aside. Tessa found herself flipped onto her stomach. Rough hands grabbed her hips, lifted them until her knees supported her lower body. Her pajama bottoms were pulled down so violently she heard something rip. Tessa gasped, too startled to do anything else, and then she felt something hard and hot inside her. Clawed hands grasped her hips as her body was rocked by hard, fast thrusts. She heard loud, animal grunts. Felt her heart race and a familiar tingle start to build between her legs. The pillow pressed against her face, stifling the small cries that escaped her. A final, brutal thrust and a low, very human groan, and it ended as abruptly as it began. The softened member withdrew from her. Her pajama bottoms were pulled back up. She let herself fall onto her side and felt the blankets drawn over her. The sound of retreating footsteps and a door closing. A few minutes later she heard another door—the front door, to judge from the squeaky hinge—open and shut. Then silence.

Hours later, dawn's first rays filtered through the bedroom window. Tessa lay awake the entire time, confused and unfulfilled.


	6. Gentle

**A/N:** We now come to what I've referred to in earlier fics I've written as an "it" scene. If you can't figure out what "it" is, then you're too young to be reading this story. So avert your eyes, you naughty kids!

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

An ordinary woman would have been too sore to walk; for Tessa, the only lingering discomfort was the sticky residue of Victor's semen. Tessa rose from her bed. Her pajama bottoms had taken some minor damage and hung loose from her hips. She held them in place with one hand, padded silently out the door and headed for the bathroom. She filled the tub, stripped out of her rumpled nightclothes, and stepped gingerly into the heated water. She scrubbed herself thoroughly, though not with a victim's frantic desire to remove all trace of an attacker. What happened last night, she wasn't sure what to call it. Both times before when Victor assaulted her he didn't hesitate to slash at her with his claws; yet last night when he held onto her he was very careful not to let his claws pierce her skin, even though he knew she would heal from any wounds she received. And after, he'd covered her up again; a consideration Tessa doubted he ever showed any of his victims. Compared to his earlier behavior, he'd been almost gentle.

Then he left. He walked out of the house before Tessa even had a chance to wrap her head around what happened. She didn't feel violated or used. If she had to pinpoint her emotions, she would say that she was confused. And _frustrated_. It didn't help that she was genuinely attracted to him. All one had to do was glance at the pictures of husbands past to see she was fond of large hairy men. More than once when she lay in her bed late at night she would fantasize about Victor. She wondered how he never smelled it on her. But then, she didn't fantasize during the day when they were in the same room together. Well, aside from an occasional fleeting thought. Victor certainly detected those and made sure to leer at her every time so she would know he was aware of it, much to her annoyance. But it was more than just his body; there was a wildness to him that drew her in, an almost magnetic pull felt deep within her core. When she knew him as a child her feelings were purely maternal in nature. Those benign feelings were long gone, yet the memory of them added to the strangeness of her predicament now.

Tessa lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. The night before kept playing through her mind, sensations and sounds that made her heartbeat quicken and her body tense. She wanted to confront Victor, but had no idea what she'd say to him. She wasn't mad or upset by what he did to her, though she had every right to be. Every time she tried to work up some righteous anger, however, all she could dwell on were the feel of his hands, his hard, desperate thrusts, and the low sound he uttered when he climaxed. Her mind would not let it go; it ran in a continuous loop through her thoughts. She squirmed in the bathtub. "Damn it," she muttered through gritted teeth. Her hand crept down between her legs. Her questing fingers found the source of her rising need. She stroked the hardened nub, letting the thoughts of Victor run through her mind. Her breathing quickened, a weak cry emerged from her mouth. She didn't come, but managed to ease the worst of the desire. Enough for her to reign in her thoughts and focus on finding where Victor had gone.

The dreaming forest's song was subdued. Nevertheless, it told her what she wanted to know. Victor was miles from the clearing, bulling his way through the drifts. He showed no signs of tiring and no inclination to return. Just like when he was a boy. Not a word, not a message. Just picked up and left.

When Tessa woke that morning all those lifetimes ago and found Jimmy's note, she knew he lied about he and his brother having a place to go. Still, she and Josiah had given the boys a choice. No matter how much it hurt, they had to respect their decision. Instead, Tessa watched over them as they traveled through the woods. Wherever they chose to make camp they always found plenty of dead wood for the fire. Whatever direction they chose the way was always clear. Only when they walked beyond the range of her hearing did Tessa finally break down and weep, knowing they were gone from her life forever. In the years that followed, she often wondered if she hadn't been wrong to let them go.

Her throat tightened as she witnessed Victor moving farther and farther from her. He obviously had no intention of coming back.

Tessa relaxed her body and let her consciousness fall into the music. Despite the deep cold that brought them to dormancy, the trees still responded to her will. She altered the song and sensed its echoes from a distance. It was a slow process, but she had time. The water in the tub cooled.

* * *

Victor trudged through the deep snow. He was severely underdressed, plus the boots he'd tried on back at the cabin proved too small, so his feet were bare. Exertion provided the heat he needed. That and anger. Not at what he'd done, but because he lost control. Feral though he was, Victor's actions were always within his control. When he killed, when he raped, when he used his claws to mutilate someone beyond recognition, it was because _he_ wanted to do it. His will. But last night occurred because his control slipped away from him. His only hope was that once he took her the desire would finally leave him. If anything, it was now stronger than ever, a burning ember deep inside that couldn't be clawed out. He couldn't get her out of his head. He remembered with painful clarity her tightness, her muffled cries, the rising scent of arousal. That last hadn't really surprised him; many of the women Victor raped became aroused and even experienced orgasms. He'd always laughed at them for it, called them sluts, told them they wanted it. But he knew that wasn't so. It was just their bodies betraying them. It added to their humiliation, which he'd enjoyed as much as the physical act. Not this time, though. The realization of what he did to Tessa left him with a sick feeling like acid in his gut. He was powerless in the face of his need for her.

If she'd wanted him … but that was a useless thought. No one wanted him.

Victor was brought to a halt by a dense tangle of trees, their branches intertwined to create a natural barrier. He swerved aside to detour around it only to find the tangle extended for miles in either direction. Victor growled, his anger rising. This was Tessa's doing. For whatever reason she wasn't going to let him leave.

"Try and fucking stop me," he snarled. Victor plunged into the latest barrier, lashing out at the tangled limbs with his claws. The still winter day was filled with the sounds of splintering wood. Victor plowed his way through, but the deeper he went, the more dense the growth became until he could hardly move. The only clear path lay behind him, but Victor had no intention of turning around. He threw his weight against the barrier, felt it bow, heard the wood groan and creak. His feet skidded and he suddenly realized the trees were actually pushing back. The rage flared.

_"Fuck you! You stupid goddamned cunt! Tree-hugging bitch!"_ Obscenities poured out of him. He struck out at random, no longer caring if he broke through. In his fury all he saw was red; all he thought about was rending and breaking whatever lay in his grasp. Branches snapped, trunks were scored by rows of deep cuts. Movement at the corner of his eye drew Victor's attention to a small group of deer frightened by his violent fury. Without conscious thought, Victor leapt after them, bounding on all fours like a panther. He fell upon an unfortunate straggler and heard the satisfying crack of a broken spine. Fangs and claws tore into the deer's flesh. Everything he couldn't bring himself to do to Tessa he did now. All the rage and guilt, agony and longing were taken out on the helpless creature's body. Blood and fleshy gobbets flew, an island of stark red against the field of snow. When Victor finally staggered back, covered head to toe in gore, there was nothing recognizable in the sorry mess of bone and bloody meat. Steam rose from the remains. Victor stared, his chest heaving with weary gasps. The blood which coated his body cooled rapidly in the winter air, as did the rage. He was still in turmoil, but at least he'd found a temporary release.

He became aware of a bleating sound. Victor followed it to another deer that hobbled painfully on three legs, its right foreleg slack and obviously broken. In its panicked haste to get away, its cloven hoof jammed in a hole concealed by the snow and the bone in its leg snapped. Victor approached the wounded animal. The deer bleated piteously and tried to limp away. The mutant easily caught up to it and broke its neck with a single hard twist. The limp body flopped to the snow.

Victor's nose and sensitive ears detected the presence of wolves, drawn by the scent of blood, yet understandably wary of the creature that had spilled it. Long gone were the days when predators saw him as easy meat. Victor knelt by the body and proceeded to butcher it with his claws, his movements methodical where before they were chaotic. He packed the meat he wanted in the deer's hide and left the rest to the scavengers.

The way ahead remained unchanged; a dark, forbidding mass of entangled branches. Victor felt a spark of his earlier anger, but knew it was pointless to fight. She would not let him leave. Not this time. The confrontation he'd tried to avoid seemed inevitable. Victor told himself it was frustration and not anxiety that made his heart speed up. With a low growl in his throat, he slung the makeshift sack over his shoulder and began to retrace his steps back to the cabin.

* * *

Tessa heard of the slaughter in the wood's song, yet was still unprepared for the sight of Victor as he entered the clearing. A primal vision, his face a mask of crimson. Blood clotted in his short hair, in the furry muttonchops on his face. The clothes he wore stuck wetly to his body, their original color no longer distinguishable. The snow in his wake was stained pink by his bare feet. He carried a large bundle made from the raw skin of one of the deer he killed earlier.

Tessa waited in the open doorway, the words she'd meant to say to him died in her throat. She hastily backed away as Victor stepped through the door and immediately went to the kitchen where he deposited the freshly butchered deer meat into the sink. He then turned and headed for the bathroom, shedding his bloody clothes as he went, letting them drop without pause. The bathroom door slammed behind him. Tessa stared at it dumbly for a long moment before she snapped out of her stupor and bent to gather the ruined clothes. A few smears were left on the floorboards, which she quickly cleaned up.

The sound of the filling tub drifted from the closed door. Tessa paced back and forth, her nervousness rising. She had no idea what to say to him. The words she'd spent so long rehearsing now sounded ridiculous to her. She eyed the bathroom door, dread and impatience warring within her.

Little did she know that Victor suffered much like her. He sat in a tub filled with pink-tinged water and abraded his skin with a coarse scrubbing brush. The soap Tessa had was the size of a brick and smelled of natural plant oils rather than that perfumed crap that burned Victor's nostrils. He managed to deplete the bar by over a third as he washed himself with far more thoroughness than even his gory state warranted. Despite the clouds of steam that surrounded him, he felt as if the winter had penetrated his bones. Pride would not allow him to admit the sensation was fear. Fear of the condemnation he was sure to see in Tessa's eyes once he stepped out of this bathroom. What other reason was there for her to insist on his return? When he raped her the night before he finally succeeded in obliterating whatever lingering kindness she felt towards him when he was a boy. Now she understood, just like he told her she would. He was an animal.

It was a hollow victory.

He drained the tub of tainted water, refilled it, and washed again. Finally, Victor drained the tub for the last time, stepped out and grabbed a towel. It carried her scent, like everything else. He dried off, then wrapped the towel around his waist. Staring at the door, he knew there was no putting it off any longer. He reached out, turned the knob, and stepped out into the den.

Tessa wasn't there. Victor gawped stupidly. So certain was he of her presence that her unexpected absence made his mental gears slip. After a few seconds his mind processed the sight of clean clothes stacked on the back of the couch. He picked them up, let the towel drop to the floor, and got dressed.

He found Tessa in the kitchen rinsing off the venison and putting the washed cuts of meat on a large platter. There was a box of Glad freezer bags on the counter; Tessa planned to put most of the meat in those bags, then bury them outside in the snow. Nature's deep freeze.

Though she didn't turn her head, she was aware of Victor's presence behind her. "I thought we'd have some of this for dinner," she said.

It was too much. Victor stormed over and grabbed her shoulder, spinning the startled woman around to face him. His hand grabbed hold of her slender neck. Tessa's eyes were wide, her mouth open in alarm. Her body exuded a heady mix of fear and arousal. Victor could feel the rapid pulse in her neck. His claws longed to sink into the soft flesh, but he resisted. It enraged him, how weak he'd become that he couldn't bring himself to damage this frail. He leaned in close, fangs bared in a furious snarl. "Goddamn it, what's wrong with you? You're actin' like everything's okay."

She swallowed, throat flexing against his palm. "It's alright—"

_"Nothing's alright!"_ Victor bellowed, hot breath gusting against the woman's face. He desperately wanted her to scream at him, to beg, to beat at him futilely with her weak fists, to call him a monster. He wanted her to be a victim, because it was familiar. He knew what to do with victims. He didn't know what to do with her.

Tessa's expression hardened. She forced herself to speak in a level tone. "Let go of me."

A low growl. Victor jerked his hand away from her neck and stalked back a couple of paces. Everything about his body language spoke of menace, except his eyes. Dark wells of pain and fearful longing. Tessa remembered seeing those emotions in his eyes as a boy. She hadn't known what to do for him then. She didn't know now. Thinking about the situation only made it worse. Time to put thought aside and let instinct guide her. Tessa started unbuttoning her shirt.

Once again Victor found himself staring idiotically. He managed to regain control of his voice after a couple of false starts. "The hell are you doin'?"

"I don't want you to mess up any more of my clothes." She smiled, let the shirt slip from her shoulders onto the kitchen floor. Slight as she was, Tessa seldom bothered to wear a bra. Her breasts were not unlike those of a girl just entering puberty, small and pointed, the nipples stiffened to pebble-hardness. The scent of her fear waned even as her arousal increased. Victor's nostrils flared. His growing erection strained against his pants. Tessa unzipped her jeans, slid them down her long legs, and stepped out of them. She now wore only a pair of panties the same shade of green as her intently staring eyes. Long and thin, narrow-hipped and small-chested, a youthful body with an ancient gaze. As she neared him Victor struggled with the conflicting urges to retreat or crush her to him. His body was so tense it seemed to make the air around him vibrate. The words he forced out emerged in a croak, "I don't know how to be gentle, frail."

Tessa brought her hand up to her mouth. Her teeth sank into the fleshy heel of her palm. The smell of blood mingled with the scent of her arousal. Victor moaned. Tessa held her hand up, palm facing Victor. He saw the red on her lips, saw the wounds left by her teeth slowly vanish. "There's nothing frail about me," she said.

It was all the encouragement he needed. Victor grabbed the slender woman in a crushing embrace. His mouth crashed into hers. He tasted her blood and saliva, plunged his tongue deep into her mouth and felt her own tongue swipe against the points of his fangs. A low rumble emanated from his chest. Tessa felt its vibration. Her sensitive nipples rubbed against the fabric of his sweatshirt. She moaned and ground against him, feeling the swell of his arousal against her lower belly.

The next few moments were a blur. Victor hoisted the woman into his arms and practically ran with her out into the den, lowering her onto the sleeping bag that served as his bed. He couldn't remember discarding his clothes. The next thing he knew he was naked and grinding himself against her only to encounter a barrier of green cotton. Victor growled and tore away her panties with a vicious yank, flinging them aside. Her smell was intoxicating. He brought the head of his cock to her entrance, felt the dampness of her sparse curls and knew she was as every bit as eager as him. As if to emphasize this Tessa grabbed his hips and pulled him towards her. Victor buried himself up to the hilt in her. A loud groan escaped him, echoed by the woman beneath him. God, she was so tight. He immediately began to thrust into her. Tessa's legs wrapped around his waist, her hips rose in time to his thrusts. Nails dug into the skin of his back hard enough to draw blood. Victor braced himself on his arms and fucked her hard and fast. The force of his thrusts made Tessa's body slide back and forth; only her tight hold on him kept her from slipping off the sleeping bag altogether. Her sharp cries spurred him on. All conscious thought had fled her. She was a mindless animal lost in overwhelming sensation. She could feel her climax approaching. Oh god, she could feel it. She was coming! Tessa threw her head back and howled. Victor let out a terrific roar, back arched and head upturned as if baying at the moon. Then both lovers collapsed in an exhausted heap, sweat dripping from their bodies.

Tessa felt Victor's hot breath against her neck. His heavy body weighed her down, trapping her in place until he chose to move. Tessa marveled at how she found this enjoyable rather than frightening. After a while Victor shifted against her. "Feel like my bones 've turned to Jell-O," he mumbled. Tessa giggled.

Victor licked the sweat from her neck, raised his head to meet her lips with his. The kiss was a soft caress against her mouth. Tessa moved her hand to stroke the fur of his cheek. When their mouths finally parted she said with a mischievous smile, "I thought you didn't know how to be gentle."

Victor bit her lower lip, tasting her blood. Tessa grinned. "That's more like it."

Victor chuckled; not the sardonic noise he usually made, but warm and genuine. He lightly kissed her chin. "I finally figured it out."

"What?" Tessa asked, nibbling his earlobe.

"You're totally crazy."

She laughed quietly. "How so?"

Victor kissed his way down her long neck, nipped at her collarbone. "Why else would this've happened? Nobody in her right mind woulda thrown herself at me like you did." He felt her body stiffen beneath him. He lifted his head to meet her gaze. Tessa's brow was furrowed.

"You really believe that."

Victor looked away, shrugged. "Either that or you're just desperate." He knew that was the wrong thing to say. He waited for her to get angry, shove him away from her. He never expected tears. He heard a sob and looked down at her in alarm.

Tessa covered her eyes with her hand. Her shoulders trembled. "I never should've let you go."

It took him a second to realize she was talking about the first time he left her, with Jimmy.

"Jimmy made out okay," he tried to reassure her, even though talking of his brother still hurt, "Turned out tougher than any of us thought he would."

Tessa pulled her hand away, smearing the tears. Her green eyes stared up at him in away that made his throat tighten. She cupped his face in her hands. "You were the one I always worried about, not James. Even when you lived with me and Josiah. You took so much onto yourself, put yourself through so much suffering so your brother wouldn't have to. It's no wonder you became so brutal."

Victor shook his head. "Make it sound heroic, the way you say it." He touched his forehead to hers. "I'm not some martyr, Tess. I did a lot of awful things 'cause I liked it. Killin' people for a living was the best job I ever had. The money was just gravy."

He finally called her by her name, and it was to tell her he was a hitman. A hitman who enjoyed his work. _Is that what you'll go back to once spring arrives? Just pick up where you left off? Pretend your winter here with me was nothing more than a diversion?_ She didn't voice the questions that ran troubled her thoughts; she feared the answers he might give.

Victor started to lift himself off her. Tessa's arms tightened around him. "Where do you think you're going?"

He smiled. "I'm too heavy for you."

"I told you I'm not frail." She pulled him back down onto her. Victor didn't resist.

After a long moment of comfortable silence, he said, "Y'know, if I _had_ stayed on, things'd be a lot more awkward right now."

Tessa laughed.


	7. The Winter Months

**A/N:** Some fluff in this chapter. But then again, it _is_ a romance, after all. :-)

Lyrics to "Happy Trails" by Dale Evans Rogers.

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

Once they motivated themselves to get up, the two of them took a bath together. This wasn't quite as pleasurable as it might have been, since most of the hot water had already been used up earlier. After they dried off and got dressed, Tessa finished putting the deer meat away while Victor, in an uncharacteristic show of chivalry, volunteered to cook dinner.

"You can cook?" Tessa asked, her expression more delighted than disbelieving.

Victor drew himself up. "What? You thought I was one of those guys who lived on microwaved takeout?"

"Alright then," Tessa indicated the kitchen with a sweep of her arm, "Impress me."

Victor cooked venison steaks (and by "cooked," he seared the outsides for a few seconds on a hot skillet, leaving the centers red and bloody), prepared two baked potatoes, and just to show he wasn't just some meat 'n' potato caveman, sauteed asparagus spears in butter. Victor in turn was thrilled to see Tessa devour her meal with enthusiasm. Despite her willowy frame, she could really pack away the food. When she finished she leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the man across from her with a teasing smile. "So … what's for dessert?"

Victor grinned. They turned in early that night.

Victor woke the next morning with a firm mattress beneath him and Tessa's body pressed up against his back, one slender arm and leg slung over him. He couldn't remember ever waking up in bed with a woman who didn't charge by the hour; and none of them, no matter how well they concealed their emotions, ever held him as they slept, preferring instead to put as much mattress between them and him as possible once their work was done. Victor never thought anything of it, but the way Tessa clung to him, it felt good. Plus, the bed was actually long enough to accommodate his height. One of the most annoying aspects of his work was having to spend so many nights in shitty motels with his feet jutting over the ends of the beds.

"Mmmm." Tessa's body flexed against him as she woke. He half expected her to draw away, but if anything she tried to bring herself even closer. Her breasts pressed against his shoulder blades, her pelvis curved against his ass, and the leg she slung over him twined with his own. Oh yes, this was definitely better than paying for it.

"Mmmorning," she murmured groggily. She ran her fingers through the forest of hair on Victor's chest. "I love your hairy chest."

Victor couldn't help but chuckle. "Bet you say that to all the guys."

She pressed her lips to his shoulder. "Well, I like hairy men, but yours is much thicker than most I've been with. You're like a giant teddy bear."

He blinked in surprise. "That ain't what usually springs to people's minds when they look at me."

"A teddy bear." Her arm tightened around him. "I'm gonna call you Huggy from now on."

A long silence. "The hell you will."

"Or Fuzzy, or Kitty … Oh!" Tessa laughed as Victor suddenly turned and pinned her to the bed, only to look up at his face and feel the humor vanish.

Victor glowered down at her, dangerously still. "You think I like bein' laughed at?"

Tessa licked her lips. "I was only playing, Victor." Her fear-scent began to rise. He couldn't kill her, or even damage her, but she could still experience pain like anyone else. The tension grew between them. Then Victor released his hold on her and sat up, forearms resting on his knees, not looking at her. After a moment Tessa sat up as well. She placed a tentative hand on his arm, rested her head against his shoulder. "I won't tease you again if you don't like it," she said quietly.

Victor swallowed. Despite his long life, he didn't have any experience with relationships. He'd never spent time with a woman for more than a few hours, and they were not pleasant experiences for the women by any stretch of the imagination. Victor just knew he was going to fuck this up somehow.

"Sorry." The word came out in a mumble. He never apologized, not even to his brother.

"It's okay."

"It's just …" He fidgeted, tried to find the words.

"It's alright. I understand." Tessa stroked his furred cheek. "You can't be seen as weak. That's you you survive."

Victor looked at her, startled by her understanding and grateful that he didn't have to put his feelings into words. He took her face into his hands and kissed her. "How'd you get to be so damn smart?"

"Just lucky, I guess," she smiled.

They lay back down, Tessa on her back, Victor propped up on his elbow and staring down at her. She certainly wasn't built like the plush women he usually found attractive; just shy of six feet tall with absolutely no excess body fat. Victor thought about the hearty appetite she showed at the dinner table and wondered where the hell it all went. Her skin was unblemished white, save for the freckles scattered across her chest. They tapered at the valley between her small breasts and continued in an uninterrupted line down her torso, past her belly button, and disappeared into the dark triangle between her legs. Victor traced its path with the tip of a claw, eliciting a shiver from her.

"Francis, my husband before Dan, used to call that my happy trail," she explained with a laugh.

Victor grinned. _"Happy trails to you, until we meet again."_

Tessa burst into giggles. _"Happy trails to you,"_ she sang in a voice full of laughter, _"keep smilin' till then."_

Victor started to kiss his way down the line of freckles, pausing to dip his tongue playfully into her navel, making her squirm. Tessa continued to sing, _"Who cares about the clouds when we're together? Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather."_

Her legs parted at Victor's gentle nudge. Her breathing became heavier, her voice more reedy. _"Happy trails to you … till we meet _… ahhh …" Tessa arched her back as Victor's mouth closed over her sensitive nub. The last word came out as a sigh. _" … -gain."_

* * *

Once they jogged their memories about how to tan leather, the deer skin was used to make Victor a pair of moccasin boots which were then lined with fur taken from a couple of rabbits he caught. Now that the weather had settled, Victor went out almost every day, exploring the vast forest Tessa claimed as her own. He was amazed by the profusion of game available, even in the dead of winter. He couldn't remember the last time he saw a place so untouched my human interference. Often while he hunted he sensed a pack of wolves trailing him. Victor didn't mind, so long as they kept their distance. At least with them around he knew any meat he didn't carry home wouldn't go to waste. Tossing human victims aside like roadside litter was one thing, but Victor didn't like the idea of prey being left to rot. It felt wrong.

He recalled a time when he and Jimmy were both in their early twenties and chose to live out in the wilderness, far from humanity. They lived as wild predators, hunting, eating the raw meat of their kills, wearing their skins. Jimmy actually hunted _with_ the local wolves, who of course treated him as their alpha. Victor preferred to go it alone, or with just his brother; he was never much of a team player. Those years they spent out in the woods brought Victor the most contentment. The constant anger that churned within him gradually slipped away. He understood years later that the rage was brought about by his sense of alienation, and away from humans he was free to be himself without the constant stares and judgments. He would have spent his entire life out there, but then the settlers began their inevitable encroachment and the brothers found themselves once again having to conceal their true natures.

Being a soldier, and later a killer for hire, was the closest Victor got to indulging his predatory instincts. And he also got to take out his hatred of the humans who'd denied him his nature, an endless cycle of blood and murder that ate away at whatever good remained in him. He called himself an animal, but what he really was was a lost soul wandering in a hell of his own making. That realization was brought home to him when his brother chose to leave and spare himself from the same fate. Now Victor found himself in another forest, experiencing the freedom he'd missed for so many decades. The rage slowly receded as the true animal was allowed to flourish. There was still violence, but the pure violence of survival, untainted by hatred or sadism.

And each afternoon when the weak winter sun hung low on the horizon, Victor returned to the cabin where Tessa waited. Even though her mutant ability allowed her to always know where he was, she would still smile with such happiness every time he stepped through the door. The sight of it brought an ache that Victor couldn't name, that both frightened him and made him hope it would never fade.

The months slipped by with little notice, neither mutant looking to the future, though for different reasons. Victor was content to live entirely in the moment, as any beast would, while Tessa tried not to think of the coming spring and the probable end to her new happiness. Sometimes, though, Victor would glimpse a sadness in her eyes, gone so fast he wondered if it was even there.

"You're getting awful shaggy," she said one day, running her fingers through his thick mane.

Victor grinned. "Thought you liked hairy men."

"There's hairy and then there's ape-man," she retorted. She pulled out a chair from the dining table. "Sit," she said, pointing imperiously.

Victor smirked and sauntered over to the chair, lowering himself into it in a way that said he was only humoring her. Tessa found an old sheet to drape over him and a pair of scissors. As she started to trim his unruly hair, the _snip-snip_ of the scissors and the feel of her fingers against his scalp brought a memory from long ago; one Victor didn't realize he still had until that moment. One evening after he and Jimmy finished their lessons Tessa announced it was time to cut their hair.

"Just because we all live out in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean we can't look presentable."

Josiah, too, was subjected to her ministrations. It was the sort of task everyone pretended to dislike, when in fact they enjoyed the attention. It was the most physical contact the young Victor ever allowed between himself and Tessa. He remembered keenly the close intimacy of their bodies, the deep sense of affection the older woman seemed to radiate as she gently wielded the scissors, and how her scent seemed to flood through his entire being. He felt these things again now, a century later.

Tessa maneuvered around to his front, situating herself between Victor's knees. Outwardly she seemed businesslike, but Victor could smell the faint sweetness that said _tease_. She was wearing drawstring pants and a T-shirt. Victor lifted the bottom of the shirt to expose her belly button and the trail of freckles running down it. He leaned in and dipped his tongue into her navel. Tessa flinched.

"Stop that!" she laughed. Victor responded by grabbing the drawstring with his teeth and pulling out the knot. Tessa yanked it away from him. He tilted his head up to give her an unconvincingly innocent look. Tessa tapped the end of his nose with the flat of the scissors. "Behave," she chided, "or you'll wind up with a wonky haircut."

Victor chuckled and put his arms around her waist, but did nothing further to hinder her. Tessa snipped away the last errant strands, then set her scissors down on the table and removed the sheet from his shoulders. "All finished."

"Don't I get a mirror?"

Tessa quirked an eyebrow. "What for?"

"Well, how do I know I'm gettin' my money's worth?"

She stroked his furry muttonchops. "Trust me, you're as handsome as ever." And there it was, that sad look in her eyes, gone in an instant. Victor's throat tightened. He stood and abruptly swept her up in his arms, carrying her like a groom with his bride. Tessa yelped in surprise. "Wait! I have to clean up—"

"It can wait." He headed for the bedroom. Tessa threw her arms around his neck. Her laughter trailed behind them.

* * *

The breeze carried a taste of warmth. The long icicles which dangled from branch and eave dripped away. Victor raked his claws against a pine's trunk, marking his territory as a mountain lion would. The wolves observed his actions from a safe distance, anxious for the kill he was certain to make.

Victor was able to travel greater distances now that the drifts began to shrink. Soon he might even reach the boundaries of the forest.

His deerskin boots sank into the hard-packed snow. His breath clouded the air. He was not consciously aware of the direction his feet carried him, but as the days lengthened and the snows gradually receded, Victor got nearer to the place where he was burned and left for dead.

In the cabin, Tessa sat cross-legged on the sofa, her eyes closed, looking for all the world like a Buddhist deep in meditation. In truth she was within the forest's song, listening to Victor's progress. The farther he wandered from home, the more her anxiety grew. Before, she'd stopped him from leaving because she knew he was only running away instead of facing his feelings. Should he choose to leave for other reasons, not running from his emotions, but _to _his former life, Tessa knew she couldn't hold him back forever. That would only make the woods a prison and herself a jailer. It would be cruel and only serve to make him hate her. She didn't want that. So Tessa watched and hoped each day that Victor would choose to turn around and return of his own accord. As long as the harsh winter kept them isolated that wasn't much of a problem, but now that the weather began to turn favorable the temptation might increase. Tessa didn't really know how Victor felt. She told herself she didn't want to pressure him, but the truth was she was afraid. Whenever a husband died, Tessa would live for years on her own, completely self-sufficient. But when she was in love she clung to that man with an almost desperate need, knowing she would someday have to face another loss. With Victor it was different; mortality was not the danger. The only way she could lose him was if he decided he no longer wanted her. She'd never had to face that kind of loss. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to bear it.

The music got stronger as the trees started to wake from dormancy. Soon buds would appear on their branches. Seeds would germinate and burst open. Grass and plants would sprout, lichen would spread, all adding their notes to the music to create a richer symphony.

She listened to the part of the song that told of Victor, moving farther away. Was he aware that he kept heading for the place where she'd found him, burnt and frozen? Was it a conscious decision, or did some instinct guide him there? She dreaded to find out what would happen when he finally reached his destination. Would the rage all come flooding back with the memory of what was done to him? Would his desire for vengeance outweigh his happiness here?

Today was not the day to find out. Victor's progress slowed, gradually stopped. He stood awhile in silence, perhaps contemplating his journey, then he turned and headed for home. The tension that built in Tessa without her knowledge seeped away as relief washed over her. A little more time, at least.

* * *

"Remember when I told you and James that I wanted to show you something after the thaw?"

"Sure," Victor replied a tad warily. It was morning; he and Tessa were in the process of getting dressed. For Victor it was jeans and a long T-shirt. Tessa put on an off-white sweater and a long earth-brown skirt. Her feet, as always, were bare. Victor suspected he was starting to develop a foot fetish, because every time he saw her bare feet peeking out from under her skirts or pant cuffs he just wanted to jump her. To him they were far more alluring than low-cut tops or miniskirts could ever be.

Tessa held out her hand. "C'mon."

For a second Victor thought she'd read his mind and wanted to hop back into bed, but as they headed for the door his mind returned to her earlier question. Curiosity outweighed disappointment for the time being and he followed her outside without protest.

A lot of snow remained, but a great deal had also melted away, leaving muddy ground behind. The sun shone down from an eye-searingly blue sky. The air smelled of wet earth and decayed foliage. The first birds home early from migration tweeted from the surrounding trees. Tessa released Victor's hand and backed away from him. There was something subdued in her expression, like an expectation of something she was powerless to prevent. It was a look Victor saw more and more often. "Watch."

"'Kaaay," Victor said, puzzled.

Tessa walked; wherever her bare feet landed fresh greenery shot up from the moist ground and began to spread outward like ripples in a pond. Victor's eyes widened. It was like something out of a fairy tale; the Lady of Spring bringing life back to the world after a long winter. Grass and wildflowers bloomed, the nearby stand of oaks budded and burst into leaf. When Tessa reached the outskirts of the clearing a bed of moss spread itself out beneath the shelter of the trees, so thick her feet sank into it like a carpet. Tessa lowered herself onto the mossy ground, knees drawn up to her chest, offering an immodest view from under her skirt. The soles of her feet were caked with dirt. The sunlight shone through the overhanging branches and dappled her skin. "What do you think of my party trick?" she asked with a smile.

Victor knelt before her, his gaze on her filled with intensity. His hands reached out, lightly encircled her slender ankles. They trailed up along her legs, pushed back the skirt to expose her knees, which he then kissed, first one, then the other. Tessa rested her hands on the ground and leaned back against her arms, grinning at him in that way that said she liked where this was going. The spicy scent of her arousal wafted around her. Victor reached under the skirt and hooked his claws in the waistband of her panties. Tessa arched her hips to let her underwear slide off without hindrance. She then twisted her body until she was on her hands and knees, peering over her shoulder with eyebrows risen in clear invitation. Victor was startled by this, recalling the night when he'd burst into her bedroom and taken her. Tessa assured him she didn't consider it rape, but he was still uncomfortable about it. After a moment's hesitation Victor pushed her skirt up over her hips, exposing her to the cool air. The scent of her arousal grew stronger. He could see that she was already wet. Victor's inhibitions fled as quickly as they came. He hastily undid his jeans and pushed them down around his knees. He then grabbed Tessa's hips, steadying her while his cock slowly penetrated. Tessa groaned and pushed back, seating him deeper within her. His hips began pumping in a hard, fast rhythm.

It felt right this way, mating like animals in the wakening forest. Victor rumbled a deep purr, the vibration in his chest felt against Tessa's back. His fangs bit into the nape of her neck, not quite hard enough to break the skin. Tessa moaned from the delicious pain. One large hand moved beneath her sweater to fondle her breasts, while the other slid down to carefully rub her clit.

Tessa felt tears spring to her eyes the closer she got to her climax. The sense that her time with him was coming to an end suddenly overwhelmed her. She bit her lip to hold back a sob, not wanting to upset Victor.

The steady thrusts slowed, stopped. Victor could smell the bitter tang of sorrow and the salt of unshed tears. "What's wrong?" he murmured, breath ghosting against her ear.

"Nothing," she answered as calmly as she could. She moved her hips back. "Please, don't stop."

Victor hesitated, then resumed his thrusting, quickly picking up speed. It wasn't long before he heard Tessa cry out, felt her inner walls tighten around him before his own climax washed over him. Panting, they rolled onto their sides, bodies spooned together as they lay on their bed of moss. Victor nuzzled the back of her neck. "Why're you crying?"

Tessa sighed, wiped her eyes. "Because," _I love you_, "I'm so happy."

Victor knew it was a lie. His arms tightened around her. It was all he knew to comfort her.

Tessa's hands covered his, fingers interlaced. The words she whispered seemed to slip out of their own accord, defiant of her wish not to burden Victor; so faint she hoped, even with his keen ears, he might not have heard them: "Don't ever let me go."

He didn't react, so perhaps she succeeded.


	8. Settling Accounts

**A/N:** Apologies to the British if my character Guy is found insulting or offensive in any way. For some reason when I conjured him up my bizarre subconscious just had to give him the accent. I blame it on all the _Red Dwarf_ episodes I watched. Cheers!

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

The next few weeks Victor stayed close to home, even as spring arrived full force and banished the last of the winter snows. Perhaps he sensed Tessa's anxieties, despite her attempts to keep them from him. She began to hope that he might decide to stay.

When the road was clear, Tessa brought the truck out of the garage. She changed the oil, balanced the tires, and made sure the battery held a charge. "I need to get a few things from town," she told Victor, "Some better fitting clothes for you, for starters."

Victor smirked. "Somehow I doubt that podunk town's got a big 'n' tall store."

"No," Tessa agreed, a smile of suppressed mirth tugging the corners of her mouth, "But they do have an internet cafe."

"You're shitting me."

"I'm serious. I can order you some outfits online and have them delivered to my P.O. Box." She hesitated. "Um, you wanna come to town with me?"

Victor smelled her anxiety. He shook his head. "Nah. I'm not in any hurry to reacquaint myself with the local assholes."

"Okay," Tessa said in obvious relief, "See you in a few hours, then." There was only about three inches' difference in their height; Victor hardly had to bend his head down to kiss her. He smiled at the sandals on her feet; her compromise to footwear.

Tessa climbed into the truck. The engine started with a muted roar, and the vehicle tore down the dirt track, headed for the paved road to town. Victor waited long after the sound of the engine faded to nothing before he left the clearing; he didn't want Tessa to sense where he was going. He knew it would only upset her.

Victor couldn't say why he felt compelled to return to the place where she found him. It was only a few months ago when those rednecks ambushed him, yet it felt like another life. Or like a dream. Maybe he just needed to prove to himself that the life he lived before coming to these woods really happened. Or maybe the part of him that thrilled in brutality needed to hold a grudge.

The forest had yet to catch up to the clearing's abundant growth. Thin patches of grass dotted the ground. Those trees that weren't evergreens sported new buds. Insects buzzed. Squirrels chased each other up and down the tree trunks, chattering angrily. Everything smelled alive.

_Clunk._ The soft toe of his boot knocked against something solid. Victor winced at the fleeting pain and looked down. A frown creased his heavy brow. He crouched, moved the damp leaves from last year's fall aside to reveal a metal spike driven into the ground, a length of thin metal cable tied to it. The other end of the cable was frayed and spotted with rust. Ice formed in Victor's heart, so cold that it burned. He searched the ground and found the other three spikes. They were the only visible indication that anything happened here. Victor got down on all fours, brought his nose to the ground and inhaled. There, so faint he almost missed it, the mingled stench of gasoline and charred flesh. Enough to bring it all flooding back; his car rolling into the ditch, the ceaseless volleys of gunfire, the shouts and taunts of his attackers, the agony of the flames. Victor's lips peeled back from his fangs as the rage he'd all but forgotten now swelled within him. His extended claws stabbed the tainted soil. _"Motherfuckers,"_ he hissed. He jumped to his feet and ran for the edge of the woods. He burst out onto the paved road, the unhindered sunlight dazzling his eyes. He spun around until he saw the ditch where his car went down. The dirt still showed signs of disturbance, but the vehicle was gone. Probably been towed and impounded.

The sound of a diesel engine reached his ears. Victor turned, saw a large flatbed approaching. He stepped out into the middle of the road. The vehicle lurched to a halt. The driver, a middle-aged, blue-collar type with a Nascar cap and a toothpick jutting from the corner of his mouth, stuck his head out of the window and called out, "You lost or somethin', fella?"

Victor sauntered over to the driver's window. "Car trouble."

The driver, whose coveralls were embroidered with the name Laertes (with a hand-written sticker beneath it that said "Call Me Larry!" smileyface), scanned the area in obvious puzzlement to the lack of any car in sight. "Er, guess you'll be needin' a ride then."

"Looks like." Victor's tone was just shy of menacing.

Poor Larry smileyface/Laertes squirmed, glanced at the empty seat beside him. He _really_ didn't want to share his cab with this guy. "You can hitch a ride in th' back," he said, jerking his thumb behind him.

Victor flashed his fangs in a predatory grin, enjoying the man's discomfort. He went around to the back of the flatbed, found it loaded with bottles of pressurized gas in various sizes. Unfazed by the potentially volatile cargo, Victor clambered aboard, wedged himself in between the cold cylinders. Seconds later the truck lurched into motion. Throughout the long drive Victor nurtured thoughts of violence, hunting down the bastards who'd attacked him and taking his time with them. He'd had many decades to perfect his talents; he could make a victim's agony stretch out for days, if he wanted. Leave them so broken they couldn't even whimper from the pain, let alone beg for death. And then he would simply leave them; let them linger until death finally came, long after their minds were gone. His only distraction from his vengeful plans was on the outskirts of town when a familiar pickup passed in the opposite direction. He saw the back of Tessa's head, her short hair and long neck. She didn't stop or even slow down. For a brief instant Victor thought about jumping off and running back to the woods, but then the first houses came into view and the rage boiled in him, obliterating his second thoughts.

He thought he'd killed the monster within him, but it only slept while the snow covered the ground. Now it was spring, and the monster awakened, hungry for brutality. After so many lifetimes in its thrall, how could Victor ever think to cast it aside?

_Not even for Tessa?_ a dim voice whispered in his head. Victor gritted his razor teeth. No. Not even for her.

* * *

Tessa tried to ignore the flutter of anxiety as she drove up to the cabin. She hopped out of the truck. "Victor?" Maybe he's inside, she thought to herself. She entered the house, glanced around the empty den. "Victor? You wanna help me unload the truck?"

No answer. Well, maybe he was out scaring the wildlife. She went back outside, calling his name as she wandered towards the edge of the clearing. She could easily locate him through the forest's song, but her mind turned away from that option; part of her already knew. She entered the woods, calling out. "Victor! This isn't funny!"

Her throat constricted. Her eyes blurred. She blinked, tried to ignore the sting in her eyes and the quaver in her voice. "V-Victor!"

A bird sang high above her, its joyful melody a mocking contrast to her growing fear. Tessa heard a sob and realized it was hers. She squeezed her burning eyes shut and screamed, _"Victor!"_ Her panicked legs began to run. She didn't notice the loss of her sandals; wasn't aware of the jagged stones and hard roots that cut into her soles. Her feet bled and healed, over and over. She screamed until she was hoarse and her healing factor struggled to repair the damage to her strained vocal cords. She finally came to the place where she found him all but dead. Tessa staggered to a halt in the center of the square formed by the four metal spikes.

"Please," she sobbed, unsure to whom she begged, "Please …" She opened herself to the forest's music … and found Victor's song absent.

Tessa dropped to her knees, lowered her head until her short hair brushed the ground. The woods fell silent to her weeping.

* * *

_"Vic? Shit, man, where the hell've you been?"_ The familiar muddled British-American accent squawked from the receiver. Victor was using a payphone outside a convenience store where Larry/Laertes was all too happy to leave him. He'd dialed the special code from memory, knowing payment for the call would not be necessary. The man he spoke to went by the name of Guy (which he insisted was pronounced Gee, as in geek) and had been Victor's main contact for various hits for the past three years. He was more than competent, which almost made up for his tendency to talk your goddamned ear off.

_"I been getting calls out the arse, people wond'rin' why you aren't taking on any jobs. I dunno what th' fuck to tell 'em. I been sayin' you're on hiatus."_ Hi-yay-tuss, each syllable drawn out to boast his vocabulary talents. The limey prick.

"I've been nowhere," Victor truthfully replied, "Needed some time off the grid."

_"Off the fuckin' planet's more like it, man. You have any idea the rain of shit I've had to deal with? People are pissed off, man! Totally raving. They call me lookin' for the best and you're totally unreachable. Some wanker even started a rumor that you're _dead_! And all you got to say's you've been off the bleedin' grid?"_ Guy's accent always got thicker when he was mad. Victor thought it was hilarious.

"Relax, Guy. I need you to wire me some cash." He gave his location.

_"What's wrong with your credit cards, man?"_

"Lost 'em in the fire."

_"Fire! What the fu—"_

"Christ, will you just calm down. Drink your tea or somethin'."

_"I won't calm down till you tell me where the fuck you've been. And before you say it's none of my fuckin' business, let me inform you that one of our biggest clients threatened to go to the competition if you didn't turn up sharpish. You got any bloody idea how that'd make me look?"_ the voice from the receiver rose shrilly. Victor winced. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, his equivalent to pinching the bridge of his nose (never a smart move with claws).

"You gonna wire the money or not?" he asked wearily.

_"Yeah,"_ Guy snapped, _"Yeah, you'll get your soddin' money, then you'd better hop the next plane outta wherever the fuck you are and get back to work right pronto. Got it?"_

"Fine. Right after I take care of some personal business first."

A choking sound emerged from the phone, the sound of someone too stunned to speak coherently. Victor never met Guy face to face, but he imagined some doughy kid parked in front of a computer with acne scars on his cheeks and a plethora of junk food wrappers strewn about his workstation. Right now he could see him sputtering into his headset, eyes popping and pasty face turning red. Victor smirked.

_"Di-Did you not hear what I just told you, y' stupid moggy!" _The first time he called Victor that the mutant had to look it up. _"We're facin' imminent ruinage here!"_

"I'll call you when I'm done here. Cheers!" Victor hung up, cutting Guy off mid-rant.

* * *

Humans were creatures of habit. All Victor had to do was wait across the street from the bar where he first encountered his attackers. In spite of his memorable appearance, the mutant was well versed in concealment. Crouched within the shadow of an alleyway, he remained unnoticed as night settled in. The early spring air grew chill with the loss of the sun. Streetlights blinked on; the one closest to the bar flickered and buzzed like a surly wasp. Under its unsteady glow, a familiar figure staggered through the bar's entrance onto the sidewalk. Victor's lip curled at the stink of rotgut and old sweat that drifted across the street, and beneath that an odor as distinct as a person's fingerprints.

The man with the rose tattoo on his neck stumbled towards a row of parked vehicles, digging in his hip pocket for his keys. He paused before a rusty Toyota that once upon a time might have been white and now was mostly mottled gray primer and orange rust, still searching for the elusive keys. They finally emerged with a jingle. He squinted at the keyhole on the driver's side door and began the laborious process of fitting Tab A into Slot B. The area around the keyhole bore many scratches from previous attempts.

"Sure you're good to drive there, slick?"

The tattooed man turned to yell at whatever nosy bastard decided to interrupt his complex maneuverings when a massive fist slammed into his face, knocking him against the side of his car and dropping him to the pavement in an untidy heap. Victor bent down to retrieve the keys from the unconscious man and unlocked the car. He then picked up the limp body, stuffed him into the passenger seat, and placed himself behind the wheel. As usual, he had to adjust the seat all the way back to accommodate his tall frame. The engine wheezed to life with minimal fuss. The car backed out of its parking spot, then rattled off down the road.

"Wakey wakey."

Something cold and acrid doused the man's head, rousing him from his stupor. Some of it dribbled into his mouth. He gagged, spat. His watery eyes blinked up at a tall silhouette before him, backlit by the twin rays of his Toyota's headlights. The figure held something in its hand that the tattooed man, despite his fogged mind, recognized as a gas can. He tried to move only to discover his hands bound behind him, and something else, sharp points that dug into his body. The man with the rose tattoo looked around him in growing alarm. He was in a field outside of town, his hands tied behind him to a metal fencepost. Barbed wire was coiled around his torso; an effective deterrent to struggling.

"Wh-what th' fuck?"

A pop and hiss, and red light blazed. One of the emergency roadside flares from the trunk of his car. It illuminated the face of the menacing figure. The tattooed man blanched.

"Remember me, asshole?" Victor grinned.

"Oh shit. Oh Jesus. We- You're s'posed to be dead!"

"You shot me fifty goddamned times and I was still kickin'," Victor sneered, "You really think setting me on fire would do the trick? Don't get me wrong, it hurt like nothin' you can imagine." He crouched down. The fluid coating the tattooed man and pooled around him gleamed in the flare's brightness, as did the mutant's eyes. "It was fuckin' life-altering, in fact. An experience like that, I just gotta share it. And the way I see it, I owe you." He lowered the hand with the flare a couple of inches closer to the puddled liquid.

The man with the tattooed neck gaped. "Aw, Christ no! Don't—"

"Ever burn your hand on the stove?" Victor asked conversationally, bringing the flare even closer.

The man began to hyperventilate. His heels scraped against the ground in a vain attempt to scoot away. The metal post dug into his back. "P-please!" he stammered, "I'm sorry! Please god, don't do this to me!"

Victor grinned, his fangs agleam. "You know, burnt human smells just like pork. Kinda appropriate, don't you think?"

The man burst into tears, snot dribbling from his nose. "Please don't? I'm sorry! Ididn'tmeanitI'msorrypleasechristpleasedon'tburnme!" Terror made his pleas incoherent. Victor laughed and let the flare drop from his hand.

_"NO!"_

* * *

Victor hated flying, though not for the same reasons his brother did. All Jimmy had to deal with was vertigo and nausea. Victor had to contend with something far worse; boredom. The interminable hours, the crappy food, the passengers. Christ, the passengers were the worst! Screaming brats kicking the seats, old women chatting up whoever was unfortunate enough to be seated near them, fat guys in business suits who snored like asthmatic hippos. Victor lost count of the number of times he was tempted to either go on a bloody rampage through the plane or pop the nearest emergency exit and leap to freedom.

The flight attendant wasn't so bad. A woman, thankfully. Nice tits, dimples on her cheeks when she smiled, wearing just a dab of scent that complimented her natural musk. She wasn't even put off by his claws. "Would you care for a drink, sir?"

"Yes." God yes! He might not be able to get drunk, but he was willing to make the effort under the circumstances. "I'll take a scotch."

The flight attendant, whose name tag introduced her as Penelope, emptied a tiny bottle of scotch whiskey into a plastic cup with a couple of ice cubes in it. As she passed it over, one of Victor's claws nicked the tip of her finger. Penelope gasped and sucked the bead of blood from her finger, yet her scent didn't change. No fear.

"Sorry," Victor mumbled, then blinked in surprise at what he'd just said.

"It's okay." She dimpled at him. Damn, she was cute. Victor wondered why he wasn't fantasizing about fucking her and cutting her open, as he so often did when confronted by attractive women. "My niece is a mutant," she told him.

"Oh?" Victor feigned interest, if only to encourage the pretty frail to linger a while.

"Yeah. She goes to this special school called Xavier's."

"Oh," he responded in a much flatter tone.

Someone pressed the call button. "I gotta go," Penelope said apologetically, "Let me know if you need another drink, okay?"

"Sure thing." He watched her mince away. In the seat beside him, a slumbering man let loose another foghorn snore. Victor rolled his eyes and tossed back his drink in a single gulp.

The flight ended with all emergency releases untouched and passengers unmauled. Victor breezed through the terminal and out into the cloudy afternoon. No luggage for him; he was traveling light. He managed to hail a cab that took him to one of the many apartments he kept scattered throughout the country. It was strange, everything familiar yet somehow alien. The entertainment center with its 60 inch flatscreen TV and surround sound system; the bathroom with its huge shower stall custom made for his dimensions; the bed with its emperor-sized mattress; the kitchen with its stainless steel appliances. Everything new and shiny, modern, sterile.

Victor took a shower, washing away the last traces of the forest from his skin, then changed into the clothes that waited for him in the closet. Dark jeans, charcoal gray shirt, black workboots. Then he picked up the handset from the charger on the coffee table and dialed the first of many numbers he would call that day alone.

* * *

_"What the _fuck_ have you been doin'!" _Guy's irate voice brayed from the phone.

Victor replied in a reasonable tone that he knew would infuriate the man further, "I said I'd call when I was done with all my personal shit."

_"It's been three fuckin' weeks, man!"_

"Turns out I had a lotta shit." More than even Victor had expected.

_"Like what?"_

"Oh y'know, accounts to pay up, loose ends to tie." He let Guy draw his own conclusions from that remark.

_"Fine, whatever. Now you've got all that straightened out we can get back to business."_

"Yeah, about that," Victor lay back on the hotel's bed, eyes closed, feet hanging over the end, "I'm not comin' back to work."

A long silence. _"Come again?"_

"I'm done, Guy. I've closed up shop." He was exhausted. Three weeks of jumping from State to State, emptying bank accounts and money drops, selling off properties, grabbing a few hours' sleep in some fleabag motel and hopping a plane to his next destination; it was enough to drain even the toughest mutant's stamina.

_"I … I … I dunno what to say."_ Guy's voice had the dazed sound of someone who'd just been told the sun was about to go nova. _"Uh … What exactly am _I_ s'posed to do while you're plottin' your grand-scale midlife crisis?"_

The corners of Victor's mouth quirked in a tired smile. "Don't sweat it. I lumped all my assets together into an offshore account. I'll give you the number on one condition."

Guy's tone was understandably wary. _"Go on."_

"There's this flight attendant named Penelope. Works for American Airlines." He proceeded to give a detailed description of her along with the flight number she was on when he met her; more than enough info for the savvy Brit to locate her. "Ten percent of what's in the account goes to her. You get the rest."

_"Are you shittin' me? What about you?"_

"I won't be needing anything where I'm goin'."

_"Aw hell, you're not quittin' cos o' this Penelope bird, are you?"_

"No," Victor sighed tiredly, "Not her."

_"But it _is_ a woman."_

He didn't answer.

_"Oh. My. God! You'll never believe this, man, but I think a pig just flew right past my bloody window."_

"Shut the fuck up, geek," Victor growled.

_"I'm serious, man! There was a little devil in a snowsuit ridin' its back."_

"You want the account number or not?"

_"Right. Give it 'fore you come to your senses."_

"And don't forget about Penelope."

_"Believe me, man, last thing I'd ever do is cross you. I enjoy bein' alive too much."_

Victor gave him the number, then hung up the phone without so much as a final goodbye. He had just enough cash left on him for one last flight. He rolled onto his side and let exhaustion pull him into sleep. In a dream he saw Tessa in a pale yellow sundress standing beneath a tree whose branches hung naked and lifeless. Her hands were cupped over her ears. When she pulled them away, the palms were stained with blood, with more dripping from her ears. _I can't hear them anymore,_ she said in a voice filled with sad confusion. She held her arms out to him, face pleading. _Don't ever let me go._


	9. Worth It

**A/N:** I'm pretty much ignoring the fact that X3 was ever made for the sole reason that it totally pissed me off. (Killing off half the main characters! What the hell were they thinking?) So everybody who (stupidly, pointlessly) died in the third X-Men movie is alive and well in my little story. Sadly, I couldn't fit all the characters I wanted to in this chapter, but there's always the possibility of future stories.

There's a smattering of dialog taken from the Origins movie.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

It was a beautiful place, if rather tame for Victor's taste. The high wall surrounding the mansion and its grounds was pretty much submerged under a waterfall of ivy, except for a spot beside the wrought iron gate trimmed back to reveal a plaque: XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED CHILDREN. Victor trod up the long driveway leading to the gate with all his worldly possessions; the clothes on his back and boots on his feet. The automated gate swung closed before he reached it. No surprise there. Victor stood before the barred entrance, clawed hands casually tucked into the pockets of his long black coat, and waited. He could hear the sounds of kids playing in the distance, though none were in view. Maybe the professor warned them away.

Moments later a group of people emerged from the mansion and headed towards him. At the forefront was Professor Charles Xavier trundling in his electric wheelchair. To his right was Cyclops, with his pretty red haired fiancée at his side. To Xavier's left was Storm, her face like an ebony carving, beautiful and distant. And behind her and slightly off to the side, his face set in a determined scowl, was Jimmy. Logan, as he was known here.

Victor smirked. "All these folks to welcome little ol' me. Guess I should be flattered."

"The hell d'you want, Sabertooth?" Logan snarled. Victor's muscles tensed in reaction to his brother's aggressive tone. He felt the urge to leap over the gate and come at the other mutant, claws slashing, but fought the impulse. He forced himself to remain still, fists shoved deep into his pockets. He could smell the emotions radiating from the people glaring at him through the bars; anger, fear, hatred. They were all ready to unleash their powers the second Victor so much as twitched; all but Xavier. The bald, wheelchair-bound mutant gazed thoughtfully at the unexpected visitor. Victor imagined he could feel the old man rummaging through his thoughts.

"He is not here to fight, Logan."

The others were clearly unconvinced.

"Then why is he here?" asked Cyclops in that wannabe tough guy voice.

Victor sneered. "Why don't you fuckin' ask _me_, brown-noser?"

The visor-wearing mutant took an angry step towards him when Jean gripped his arm. "Scott," she said in a way that meant _calm down_. Victor saw the unrequited longing in his brother's eyes when he glanced at the pretty redhead. Poor bastard, pining after someone else's frail.

Cyclops forced the question through gritted teeth, "Why are you here?"

Victor shifted uncomfortably. "I'm here to see my brother."

Confused looks were exchanged between the mutants. What the hell was he talking about? What brother? Then Jean's latent telepathy picked up what Xavier already knew and her jaw went slack. Her astonished eyes turned towards the still seething Logan. Storm and Cyclops noticed, followed her gaze. Shocked disbelief, then suspicion, then growing unease.

"He couldn't possibly …" Storm trailed off, too stunned to finish.

Jimmy took in his teammates' stares and glared daggers at Victor. "You're fulla shit."

"C'mon, Jimmy," Victor said wearily, "Do I smell like I'm lyin'?"

Logan suddenly threw himself against the cold bars of the gate, the backs of his hands twitching as his claws threatened to burst out. "Don't act like you know me!" he snarled, "This's just another one of your sick games."

Victor shook his head. "Not this time, Jimmy."

_"My name's Logan!"_

"Right," the other feral agreed, "James Logan, after our father. And before that your last name was Howlett."

Logan scoffed.

"He's telling the truth," Xavier's calm voice jarred them from their verbal sparring, reminding them that they had an audience.

Neither feral broke eye contact, though the intensity of their stare-down eased a fraction. Logan stepped back from the bars, let his hands hang loose at his sides. He had the look of someone who didn't want to believe what he confronted. He repeated the earlier question, "Why're you here?"

Inside the pockets of his coat, Victor's fists relaxed, claws retracting from his palms which healed in an instant. "Settling up. Tyin' up loose ends."

"Like what?" his brother asked, voice heavy with distrust.

"Like helpin' you get your memory back."

* * *

There was a lot of arguing over whether to let him through the gates, whether to keep a guard on him and how many, whether or not to put him in restraints. Mostly it was everybody else versus the professor, so naturally the old man won out. Victor couldn't resist a smug grin as he strolled through the open gate and entered the school grounds. The other mutants arranged themselves around him, distrustful in spite of their leader's assurances. Nice to know they weren't _completely_ soft. They entered the mansion. Victor followed the softly humming wheelchair through the foyer and down a long corridor. He eyeballed his surroundings, the plush carpeting, the aged mahogany, the tasteful paintings. The place smelled of furniture polish and old books. "Nice digs."

"Thank you," Xavier responded pleasantly, his manner like that of a host giving his guest a tour of the family estate. He led the motley group to a particular door that, when opened, revealed a large study. A vast window dominated the wall behind the antique desk. It offered a view of the school's manicured grounds. Victor saw kids of various ages lounging in the grass with their textbooks, playing Frisbee, kicking a soccer ball around. Most looked like any other boy or girl you'd pass on the street. A few had some cosmetic quirk such as green hair or odd-colored eyes which could be explained away as rebellious fashion, while a handful of others were so outlandish they could barely be recognized as human. Victor wondered if Penelope's niece was one of the kids out there.

Professor Xavier maneuvered his chair behind the desk. Logan positioned himself by the bookshelves, as far from Victor as he could get, arms crossed and face set in a hard glare. Victor stood behind the two leather chairs situated in front of the professor's desk. He looked bored.

"It's alright," Xavier spoke up as the rest of the X-Men started to crowd through the door, "Your presence here will not be required. Please, give us some privacy."

They hesitated, obviously unhappy with the thought of leaving the older man in the same room with Sabertooth, even with Logan present as well.

"Are you sure, Professor?" Cyclops asked, his blank red visor fixated on the tall feral.

Xavier gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be quite alright, Scott." Victor rolled his eyes impatiently. Logan's scowl deepened.

Reluctantly, the others left the study, shutting the door behind them.

Logan turned to the professor. "So how's he supposed to help me get my memory back?"

Victor tsked. "You're gonna hurt my feelings, talkin' about me like I'm not here."

"Shut up," his brother snapped.

Xavier's reasonable voice interjected smoothly. "The memories are still present in your mind, Logan. However, the connections have been severed somehow, possibly from some sort of severe neurological trauma your healing factor wasn't entirely successful in repairing."

Logan fidgeted. "Yeah, we've been through that. You said you could fix 'em on your own, but you keep puttin' it off."

"I have been hesitant to perform such a delicate task for fear of causing further damage to your brain," the older mutant explained patiently, "On the other hand, Victor here," he indicated the looming figure with a sweep of his hand, "whose thoughts tell me is indeed your half brother, has shared many of the same experiences you have throughout your considerable lives. I believe I can use myself as a conduit to merge his mind with yours for a span of time and with any luck _his_ memories may stimulate your healing factor into reforging the connections to your own."

Victor bridled a little at the way the old man talked as if he came up with the idea himself, but as he saw the hopeful look come over Logan, he realized his brother would only consider going along if the believed it was all Xavier's idea. It was a hard thing for Victor to accept; his brother trusting someone else over him. Victor pretended not to notice the professor's sympathetic glance.

"How sure are you about this?" Logan asked.

Xavier shook his head. "Not at all, but this may prove your best chance to regain your past."

The mutant turned his suspicious gaze towards Victor. "Why now? Why the hell are you doin' this?"

Victor met his stare for a long moment, then turned and seated himself in the leather chair nearest him. "We gonna do this shot or not?"

Xavier looked at Logan and indicated the other chair with a nod. Showing great reluctance, Logan dropped into the seat. Neither feral looked at each other; eyes front, focused on the telepath seated opposite them. Xavier leaned back in his wheelchair, hands flat on the armrests, his face a picture of serenity. "Try to still your thoughts."

Victor snorted. Christ, he hated telepaths. Just the idea of letting one of them crawl around in his brain made his skin crawl. He shifted in his seat. How the hell was he supposed to "still his thoughts"? Should he close his eyes, or …

It wasn't what he expected. Not a sequential stream of images or flashes of particular moments. Past and present, youth and adulthood, all swirled within his mind at once. Images jumped out, voices spoke, none of them in any order or even matching each other. And as the chaos progressed, some of the images and words that surfaced were not from any moment Victor remembered himself. In those minutes or hours, Victor and Logan were no longer separate individuals, but a single entity with lifetimes of memory.

… _we can never be done Jimmy_ … **I was just the fool who got played** … (long tree roots coiled around Victor's body) … _how do you know you've never tried before_ … (Jimmy getting hit with a cannonball) … _it's not my name he's calling sir_ … **brothers look out for each other** …

Victor's eyes rolled up in his head. Some dim part of his consciousness was aware of his brother gasping beside him.

… _I can take anything he can_ **no you can't** … _you boys tired of running_ … (Logan carrying a child in his arms, leaving a trussed-up Stryker to his death) … **they have my sister** … _two years I rotted in that hellhole_ … **did you just call me Blob** … (Tessa sewing new clothes for the two foundling boys) … **your name is Logan **_it means the_ _Wolverine_ … _I was just the fool who got played_ … (Victor and Jimmy in the trenches, back to back) … _he deserved it and you gave it to him_ … _always thought it'd be Wade come knocking at my door_ … **you know what happens to men who go lookin' for blood **_what_** they find it** …_ little dark for sunglasses_ … (Jimmy making love to Kayla, Victor making love to Tessa) … **there's a special place in hell for the things we did** … (Victor screaming as the flames engulfed him) … _don't ever let me go_ … (Jimmy carrying a wounded Kayla, the agony of the bullets penetrating his back, falling to his knees, running towards Stryker with an angry roar, leaping towards the man who pointed a gun straight at his head, that final explosive sound) …

… _was she worth it_ …

Victor's eyes snapped open. He doubled over, gasping painfully. He heard Jimmy make similar noises from his chair. After a few seconds Victor forced himself to sit upright. He saw Professor Xavier behind his desk, looking far wearier than he'd ever appeared to either mutant before.

"Did it work?" Victor asked.

The professor looked to Logan. Victor followed his gaze. His brother seemed to gather his thoughts. He nodded slowly. "I … I remember." His eyes were glazed; it would take time for him to fully come to terms with it all.

Xavier smiled. "Congratulations, Logan."

Victor abruptly stood and headed for the door. Neither mutant tried to stop him. Out in the hall, a waiting Cyclops moved to bar his path. Before Victor had a chance to shove the upstart out of the way the younger man paused, scowled, and grudgingly moved aside. Victor sneered. So the professor wasn't above using his telepathy to order his X-Men around.

Victor exited the corridor, crossed the foyer to the big double doors he'd entered through earlier.

"Victor."

He froze at the sound of his brother's voice. Funny how much a voice could convey in just two syllables; how one person could tell another _there are no more secrets between us_ by the simple utterance of a name. It could almost be considered a form of telepathy in itself.

"What?" he asked, his back still towards the other mutant.

"Tell me something. Is she worth it?" There was no malice in the question. It was asked in the tone of someone who already knew the answer and did not condemn it.

Victor turned, faced his brother from across the room. The memories he'd picked up from him about Kayla, those few happy years together, and then the loss of her; Victor understood now that Jimmy's pain from losing the woman he loved was far worse than the pain Victor suffered at his brother's abandonment. Even though Victor's vengeful act was only a ruse, a twisted attempt to somehow convince his brother to come back to him, the anguish he inflicted on Jimmy was unforgivable, even for family.

Jimmy looked in his brother's eyes, saw the understanding and regret, and nodded. "Tell Tessa I said hi. And tell her thanks for everything she did for us."

Victor nodded. He started to turn away, hesitated. "D'you think we have a chance?" he asked, unable to meet the other's eyes.

To his surprise, Jimmy answered, "Yeah, I think so."

Victor looked at him. "Why?"

His brother shrugged, smiled faintly. "'Cause you didn't kill that guy."

He didn't need to ask what guy he meant. It cold only be one person; the one who started Victor on this insane personal quest …

_Victor drove the rattling car out to an empty pasture a few miles from town. When he got out of the vehicle his nostrils were assaulted by the acrid stink of cowpiss. A nearby pond seemed to be the source of the stink; apparently the cattle had decided to contribute to the water level after they drank from it._

_Victor rolled the unconscious man from the passenger seat and dragged him over to the closest fencepost. Once the man was tied in place, Victor opened the trunk of the car in hopes of finding some inspiration for his act of vengeance and was thrilled to discover a couple of emergency road flares and two plastic gas cans. One of them, labeled _LAWNMOWER_ in black marker, was empty, but the other still contained plenty of gasoline. It was perfect. He would burn the fucker who'd burned him, only this guy wouldn't be coming back from the experience. Victor grinned as he carried the gas can towards his unconscious victim. But then something strange happened. The closer he got to the man with the rose tattoo on his neck, the slower Victor's stride became. It was almost as if … as if he didn't want to do this. Victor shook his head and snarled. The bastard deserved to die._

If you do this,_ some voice in his head spoke up, _you won't be able to go back.

_Back where? What the hell—_

Back to Tessa._ Victor froze. No, that was ridiculous. She knew damn well what he was._

Think that makes a difference?Sure she knows. But she thinks you've changed, and you haven't exactly tried to discourage that line of thinking, have you?

_That damned smug voice just wouldn't shut up! Victor gritted his teeth and forced himself to take another step._

If you torch that guy,_ the voice continued, relentless, _you'll be showing her that you haven't changed at all. People like her won't live with monsters.

_What the fuck did he care? It wasn't his fault she lived under some delusion about him. She didn't mean anything to him anyway. She was just a way to pass the time till winter was over._

Now who's deluding himself?

_"Fuck!" Victor flung the gas can. It struck the ground a few yards away, bounced and rolled, its contents sloshing. He stood there, trembling, caught between the life he'd always known—brutality and anger, distrust and bloodshed, never staying still, never forming connections—and something other. A life of stability, of never having to look over his shoulder, of spending years or even lifetimes in a single place. With Tessa._

_He couldn't let that bastard get away with what he'd done._

You don't have to kill him.

_Victor picked up the gas can and carried it back to the car. He replaced it in the trunk, lifted out the empty can, and carried it over to the pond. Up close, the stench was even worse. Victor turned his head away and breathed through his mouth while he filled the gas can with foul water._

_Fear and drunkenness prevented the tattooed man from realizing the liquid dumped on him wasn't gasoline. When Victor dropped the lit flare into the spreading puddle the man screamed and added his own contribution to the smelly fluid. It took a few seconds for the idiot to catch up to the fact that he wasn't on fire._

_"W-wha-?"_

_Victor smirked. "You dumb shit."_

_"Y-you're not gonna … ?"_

_"I told you what happened to me was life-altering. Not the actual burning , but everything that happened after. If you and your sheep-fucking buddies hadn't torched me, the last few months woulda turned out a lot different." The mutant grimaced in disgust. "As much as it makes me wanna puke sayin' it, I owe you. So no, I'm not gonna kill you. _This time._" He leaned in close for emphasis, eyes glowing in the dying flare's sputtering light. "But if I ever see your sorry ass again …" He raised his hand so the man could see his claws more than double their length._

_The man with the rose tattoo gulped. "Y-you won't. I'll leave town tomorrow, I swear to Christ."_

_"Atta boy." Victor walked around to cut the man's wrists loose, then left him to wriggle out of the barbed wire wrapped around him. "You don't mind if I borrow your car, do ya?" He hopped into the vehicle and drove off before the man could respond. He went back to town where the next morning he picked up the cash Guy wired him._

_Victor knew he couldn't just drop everything. His career choice meant a lot of unpaid debts needed settling; the sort of debts that could lead to some very determined people hunting him down. Victor wasn't worried about himself so much as Tessa. If he was going to go back to her, he needed to be sure his old life never touched her._

I should at least tell her …

_No. Victor knew in his bones once he went back into that forest he would never willingly leave it again. Tessa would be hurt by his unexplained departure, doubtless thinking herself abandoned. He would just have to make it up to her when he got back. Whatever it took … _

Now his business was finished, his old life finally ended. Victor looked on his brother for perhaps the last time. "Take care of yourself, runt."

The corner of Jimmy's mouth turned up. "Good luck, bub."

"I'll need it," Victor sighed ruefully, "Spent the last of my cash gettin' here."

"Maybe this'll help." Jimmy tossed him a set of keys. "They go to the bike out front."

Victor stared at the keys in his hand, eyed his brother sidelong. "Yours?"

"Nah," the other mutant smirked, "Belongs t' Cyclops."

Victor let out an evil chuckle.


	10. Letting Go

**A/N:** This has been a truly enjoyable story to write and I'm almost sorry to see it end. I hope you all are as satisfied with this final chapter as I am. Yes, it's kinda sappy, but again, this is a romance so I figure I can get away with it. ;-)

I would like to thank the folks who encouraged me with their reviews: **BlackDog616, Omelia, KrazyFox13, ninjamonkey20, Seph7, bookdreamer17, Chaos2279, IsabelleBlue,** and a special shout out to **franky** who wrote one of my favorite reviews ever. It makes me smile every time I read it.

Thanks everyone!

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.**

**I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.**

* * *

You're such a pretty face, radiant

I saw you across the room, I knew I had to have you

Thus started the chase, I knew I would do anything

To take your hand and make you mine

But I learned long ago if you love someone

You have to let it go, let it go, let it go

The hardest part of letting go

Is saying goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

You severed away in a makeshift cell

Beneath the venomous moonlight

Why unleash my plan to watch you fail?

And why am I so afraid?

—from _The Hardest Part of Letting Go … Sealed With a Kiss_ by Megadeth

* * *

Letting go was such a simple thing, and yet the hardest to do.

The clothes Tessa ordered for Victor arrived. For some reason, instead of sending them back she brought them home with her. She sat on the living room floor with the boxes stacked in front of her. Her slender fingers traced the seam that poked through the layer of brown packing tape on the lid of one of them.

It was not unlike the process of mourning she went through after each husband died. First were the days of constant weeping, lying curled up in her bed, hugging the pillow that still held his scent. Then came the long weeks of numb despair, interspersed with moments of intense emotion, violent tantrums, maudlin tears. The anguish brought on by every little object that reminded her of him, and her inability to part with them. It would be months, even years, before she got rid of these things, piece by piece. Washing away the smell of him from every bit of fabric. Putting things in boxes, tucking them out of sight only to pull them out again from time to time, such moments growing less and less frequent. Then finally, taking them out of the house altogether, giving them away, selling them. Each item removed meant letting go a little bit more of the life they'd shared. A healing factor could only do so much. Some wounds would only scar over with time. Then one day she would discover she was alright, if not exactly the person she was before. She would be able to move on.

* * *

Victor wasn't partial to motorcycles like Jimmy was, but he had to admit this semi-borrowed bike was a sweet ride. He sped along the highway, the tails of his long coat flapping behind him like a cape, grinning wildly as he hunched over the handlebars. Jimmy had emptied out his wallet so Victor could refuel along the way, but there wasn't enough to spare for a motel. Victor didn't mind; he didn't plan on stopping any longer than it took to fill the bike's tank and push on. He was anxious to get back to Tessa. With any luck, and the fewest possible stops, he would reach the forest in a couple, three days. He could get by without sleep for that long, easy. Besides, when he slept he dreamed of her.

In some dreams he and Tessa made love and Victor woke hard and wanting, reaching for her only to find himself alone. In others he wandered the woods, hearing her call out his name, unable to find her no matter how fast he ran or how loud he shouted back. Still others she screamed abuse at him, said she hated him and would never forgive him for abandoning her. But by far the worst was the one recurring nightmare in which Victor found himself in the clearing and saw Tessa outside the cabin doing some kind of chore, and Victor ran to her laughing in relief and calling her name, but she didn't react, not even in anger, just kept working, and no matter what he said or how hard he tried, she wouldn't look at him. That was the worst because Tessa felt nothing for him—not sadness, not hate, not love—he didn't matter to her anymore.

But whatever he dreamed, good or bad, he always woke with an empty feeling inside him, like something vital had been cut out of his body. It had always been this way; he just never noticed it before. Without Tessa he was hollow, and hollow things broke too easily. They were weak. Victor could not be weak and survive. He needed to be strong, even if it meant needing someone else. It was a seeming contradiction he didn't question.

The motorcycle ate up the miles. He saw the wall of trees loom far ahead. _Home_, the word reverberated through his bones. His excitement increased as the terrain grew more familiar. There! The spot where his car was driven off the road, not far from the place where the horror that befell him set in motion all that happened since, bringing him to this moment now. He drove on a little farther until he saw the turnoff, so easily missed. The motorcycle didn't slow as it slewed into the sharp turn, tires kicking up sprays of dirt as they fought for traction on the unpaved trail. The stately trunks on either side were a green-brown blur as the bike roared into the forest's interior.

Tessa had to be aware of his return. What would she do, Victor wondered. Would tree roots burst out of the ground to yank the bike out from under him? Would the trees lean down to block his path? Would hanging branches batter him as he sped by? None of these things happened. Victor dared to allow himself a little optimism. Maybe she wouldn't need much convincing to take him back after all. Whatever her feelings, though, Victor had no intention of leaving again. If Tessa used her powers to their full extent to keep him out he'd find another way back in. Charter a small plane so he could parachute in; dig a tunnel a mile deep and ten miles long; hire an army of lumberjacks to cut the fucking trees down; he didn't care what it took. Victor was a selfish bastard who always got what he wanted sooner or later, and what he wanted was Tessa.

The motorcycle's engine sputtered. Victor glanced at the fuel gauge; running on fumes. The bike died and coasted to a halt. Fuck it, he'd walk. Victor let the bike fall to its side and started hiking. Despite his exhaustion from the weeks of constant travel with little or no sleep, his stride was swift and determined. After a few moments he started to jog, then run. His heart hammered in his chest. Anxiety and anticipation fought for dominance. He was eager to see the familiar cabin and yet dreaded the confrontation to come. Victor wasn't the sort of person who dawdled when faced with difficulties; he rushed headlong to meet it so that he could defeat it that much sooner. After a few minutes he dropped to all fours and loped with feline speed towards his destination.

* * *

Tessa raised her own fruits and vegetables, though "garden" was hardly an accurate description for how she went about it. No orderly rows, no weeding or raking, no fertilizers or pesticides. She would empty packets of seeds into her hands and scatter them over a convenient patch of ground as if she intended to feed the birds. The seeds always took root. Flourished, in fact. They would produce their crops well before and long after their normal span of time, regardless of whether a particular fruit or vegetable was in season or not. Tessa's patch was a riot of corn and beans, strawberries and squash, tomatoes and pumpkins, carrots and beets. Any self-respecting gardener would pull his hair out at the sight. In a rational world such an unruly mass of contradictory plants shouldn't work, but for Tessa it did. This year, however, would be a late start. Though she scattered the seeds at the same time she always did, Tessa couldn't motivate herself to influence the song. She was still _aware_ of it, the same way a person was aware of traffic in the city, or murmurs in a crowded room. Nothing more than background noise. Yet another symptom of her mourning. Sometimes after losing a husband it would take as much as a year for her to return to the music. She was numb with grief, going through the motions of day to day life without really experiencing it.

The last seeds dropped from her hand. She let her arm fall to her side, stood gazing across the clearing. A breeze whispered through the new grass shoots, rustled the branches of the trees, riffled Tessa's short hair. The sensation was distant from her. Her eyes stared blankly ahead.

"I was thinkin' …"

Everything stopped, even her heart for a brief instant. The fragile barrier which held her emotions at bay trembled. Tessa's body turned of its own volition to face the source of that haunting voice.

Victor leaned casually against the trunk of one of the oaks, face set in his trademark smirk. He was dressed all in black: jeans, workboots, shirt, and a long black trench coat, all rumpled from days of hard travel. There were dark shadows under his eyes, the only visible sign of weariness.

Tessa stared at him, then felt her mouth form the word, "What?"

He straightened, sauntered towards her. The sight of her brought a burning ache to his core. He couldn't tell what she was thinking and that made him nervous, but Victor pressed on regardless. "Before the next winter comes around I gotta have an entertainment center. Don't get me wrong, all this pristine nature's great and all, but I'm the sorta guy who has t' see some explosions once in a while, even if they're only on a screen."

He came to a halt, less than a foot between them. Tessa's face was devoid of all expression. She answered dully, "I see."

The worry that gnawed at his gut flared. Victor could've dealt with just about any reaction from her. Even hatred, because at least that meant she still cared enough to feel something. But disinterest, that could only mean he didn't matter to her anymore. That there was nothing left.

Victor felt his confident mask slip and didn't try to fight it. It was so easy, and it was the hardest thing he'd ever done; letting go of all his defenses to leave himself vulnerable to her. "I'm sorry."

"Are you." Her monotone response tore at him.

Victor forged ahead. "I fucked up when I ran off. I found the place where they burned me and I just … it all came rushing back into me. All that rage. It was all that kept me going my whole shitty life. I didn't know anything else." He took half a step closer to her; Tessa didn't react. "I found the guy who started it, the ringleader," he said, voice low and intense, "I took him out to the country and I was gonna burn him like he did me. I almost did it."

A flicker of something in her eyes. "Almost?"

Victor nodded. "But I _didn't_. I let him go."

Her lips parted, a faint crease appeared between her eyebrows. "Then why …" She couldn't bring herself to say it; _Why didn't you come back?_

Victor heard the words anyway. "I figured out what I wanted that night, but a guy like me can't just drop everything to start a new life. Not if he doesn't want the old one to come back and bite him in the ass. I took care of all of it, Tess. I haven't stayed in one place more 'n a few hours the whole time I was gone. I had t' make sure everything was done." He spread his hands in a gesture that said _look at me_. "This's all that's left, Tess. Everything I own I'm wearin'. All the money I had, all the apartments and houses, all the grudges and debts, they're all gone. I gave it all up for you. There's just me now."

Throughout his speech he saw Tessa's face slowly change. Her brow furrowed, her eyes welled up, and her chin began to tremble. Her crumbling facade flooded Victor with relief. Even when she whispered the words, "You bastard." Even when she hit him. Not an open-handed slap either, but a full-on punch which, though clumsily executed, caught Victor off-guard and caused him to stagger back a couple of steps.

"Agh! Fuh'in bi' my tongue!"

_"You fucking asshole!"_ Tessa screamed and crashed into him, pummeling him with her fists and shrieking curses. Victor just stood there and took it, knowing he deserved it. Only when her blows began to weaken and the sobs leave her incoherent did he put his arms around the crying woman and hold her against him. She struggled at first, then slumped against him, weeping. "You left me," she wailed against his shoulder, "You didn't leave any message or say anything. You just _left._ You left me alone."

"I'm sorry," he said, stroking her short chestnut hair, "I swear t' god I'll spend the next hundred years makin' it up to you. I'll do anything I have to t' make things right."

After a few more choking sobs she started to pull herself together. "What makes you so damn sure I'll take you back?" Her arms tightened around him.

Victor smiled. "Doesn't matter if you do or not," he murmured in the delicate shell of her ear, "I won't ever let you go."

At those words, Tessa closed her eyes, let out a shuddering breath. The tension eased from her body and she relaxed against him. She sniffed. "You'll do anything?"

"Yeah."

"Even let me pick out the movies for your stupid entertainment center?"

A soft chuckle. "Sure."

Tessa drew back just enough to look Victor in the eye while their arms remained around each other. "I want a whole shelf of nothing but romantic comedies," she said, "And I wanna spend an entire day watching them. Both of us." Her tear-streaked face was utterly serious.

There was no pretense in the look on Victor's face. The prospect of such a treacly marathon obviously made him want to retch. He sighed. "'Kay, if that's what it takes."

The corners of Tessa's mouth twitched. "I hate romantic comedies."

Victor blinked, then bared his fangs in a broad grin. "Thank god."

Tessa laughed as he pulled her into a long, deep kiss.

They shed their clothes. Victor spread his coat on the ground and lay Tessa upon it. She fully expected to be ravished, but instead Victor explored every inch of her body with light touches, licks, and kisses, from the top of her head all the way to her toes, pausing for a while when he reached that special place between her legs. Telling her through actions what he still couldn't bring himself to speak aloud. Victor had finally learned to be gentle. But Tessa wasn't in the mood for gentle. She sat up and pushed him onto his back, straddling him in one swift move. Victor chuckled as she began to nip and scratch at him while her hips rolled in hard, delicious thrusts. She encountered a nipple in the forest of hair on his chest and took it into her mouth. Her tongue flicked against the sensitive nub. Victor moaned. His broad hands ran up and down her spine, the tips of his claws leaving welts on her fair skin that quickly vanished. Tessa released his nipple and straightened, quickening her pace. Victor's hands grasped her hips while she gripped his forearms. They stared intently into each other's eyes, neither saying a word. Victor knew she was close. He saw her eyes widen, then squeeze shut. Her head tilted back to expose her slender throat. Short, strangled cries escaped between her clenched teeth. Victor suddenly lunged upward, his arms went around her and his lips crashed into hers. Tessa moaned into his mouth. The hair on his chest was soft against her breasts. She clung to him as they both came, their cries muffled by the kiss. Their lips finally parted as they came down from their shared high. Their foreheads touched. Tessa smiled. "I can hear it."

"What?" Victor asked, though he already knew.

"The music. The song. I can hear it again." She caressed the hair on his cheeks. "It's so beautiful." Tessa drew back. Her head swiveled, taking in their surroundings. She smiled. "Look."

Victor looked. The clearing was covered in wildflowers. The seeds Tessa had scattered earlier were now vines and plants in full bloom. Tessa laughed, her face aglow. Victor stared at her radiant joy and the words slipped out unhindered, "I love you."

Startled, Tessa's smile faded a little, then widened as her happiness increased to almost blinding brightness. "I love you, too."

Victor never knew anything could hurt so wonderfully. He lay back on his spread-out coat and pulled Tessa down with him, tucking her head beneath his chin. They lay together in contented silence.

"I went 'n' saw Jimmy," Victor said a while later.

Tessa smiled, her eyes still closed. "How is he?"

"Doin' good," he meant that in every sense of the phrase. "Wanted me t' tell you he said hi, and that he's grateful for everything you did for us as kids."

"I'm glad he's okay."

"So 'm I," he said quietly.

Another long period of silence, in which Victor felt his eyelids grow heavy. He was on the brink of dozing off when Tessa murmured, "Victor?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is there a motorcycle lying in my woods?"

Oh. "I brought it. How th' hell d'you think I got back?"

She nuzzled him. "I thought you said you didn't own anything but the clothes on your back—though I guess they're mostly _under_ your back right now."

The feral chuckled. "'S not mine. Jimmy let me have it."

"So it's his?"

"Nope."

Tessa snorted laughter, her shoulders trembled. "God. You two are incorrigible." It was a phrase she'd uttered more than once when Victor and Jimmy were boys, with the same laughter in her voice.

"Damn right." He rolled them over and pinned the woman beneath his weight. "Gonna have your work cut out for ya if you wanna straighten me out." He nibbled her throat. "Could take decades."

Tessa's head arched back, offering him better access to her vulnerable neck. "Mmm. I'm willing to put in the time. I think you just might be worth it." She slipped her arms around his shoulders and drew him into a kiss. The trees around them rustled their new leaves in the spring air. The sound was a sigh of contentment.


End file.
